


The Dying Gaul

by spnsmile



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Boyfriends, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel Needs Dean Winchester, Castiel is Protective of Dean Winchester, Castiel is So Done with Dean Winchester, Castiel is a Novak (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, DeanCas - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Falling In Love, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love, Love/Hate, M/M, Model Dean Winchester, Oral Sex, Protective Dean Winchester, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love, Workplace Relationship, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:22:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnsmile/pseuds/spnsmile
Summary: Sculptor Castiel Novak gets commissioned to recreate a human size statue of the famous ‘Dying Gaul’ sealing a contract with the promise of privacy in a mansion with only him and his marble piece. Things fall in place at his new dust-filled sacred sanctuary when enters Dean Winchester, confident, charming, irresistible and wildly sexy—everything Castiel wants his art piece to have—and everything he also wants to own. But unlike his unmoving pieces that stay where he wants it to, Dean Winchester moves and talks wherever and whenever serving only to infuriate the ill-tempered artist.Will they ever get the piece on time? Or will they have a piece of each other?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 84
Kudos: 155
Collections: DCBB 2020





	1. The Artist

**Author's Note:**

> DCBB2020 rocks and of course having paired up with none other than [Diminuel](https://diminuel.tumblr.com/) takes the cake! Don't need to tell you how she's legendary in the Destiel fandom and don't need to tell you to see her art, you're probably here because of them^^ I'm so honored to work with her, imagine from seeing her art on Pinterest/web to finding her and then bam you're paired up. It's incredible^^ cheers to reading this fic! 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel meets HIM

[ ](https://diminuel.tumblr.com/post/632795416556093440/art-masterpost-for-the-dying-gaul-by-spnsmile-i)

His first major piece was an ice-sculpture that melted within an hour. He didn’t care about the labor, he watched it melt and disappear and it was glorious. From time to time Castiel prefers taking job offers in theme parks with ice-dome attraction where he can keep creating, get paid, and then watch his creation disappear. There’s something mysterious about this craft that melts and fades from memories after an hour of glory and fame.

He supposes it’s the idea that people don’t take them for granted. Aware they are the ice sculptures are short-lived, they live in the moment of viewing it. Castiel thought there’s magic in that, almost poetic how something once glorious just disappears in plain sight, that no matter how imperfect or flawed the statue seems, it will all disappear after an hour.

There’s beauty in that.

When he was an apprentice, where he learned the hard way that no matter how long he spent perfecting his art, appreciation doesn’t come easy and that what he views as ‘flawless’ was, in fact, insufficient. What most said about his work matters to him heavily no matter how many times he shuns them. The rejection was hard. It was discouraging. He turned to himself when he didn’t know what was right and wrong. Rock bottom became his private chamber. Light simply steered clear from view until the chisel felt too heavy, the hammer resists being useful till it became a tool to wreck his goddamned shapeless dream. Leaving him feeling profoundly wrong and pathless amidst the pandemonium of voices that only belonged to him.

But who was he if not a sculptor?

So he learned. Raw power and sheer determination got him through it. If he needed to kick and smash and bleed with an ego on the ground, he would, he did. Fortunately, he was gifted with single-mindedness, steadfast and willful his own father could not do anything about. He faced the reality that there was no other way but his way and that took a long time to achieve. He detached himself from the external battle and focused on what makes his art unique, gradually chipping his way far from what is common, until he is shattering his own limits, breaking the walls of what he thought was darkness until he reached the light.

But it wasn’t enough. Art doesn’t sustain itself without an audience, it needs exposure which invites critics, but he was more confident by then, more thick-skinned that anything thrown his way, he deflected and accepted those that are necessary for his growth.

He stepped out there. He feared no one, only his failures, but they get forgotten too once the flock of the audience came.

They came in a few numbers, curiosity and inquiries addressed his way, then nothing. Like a bubble rising up and bursting in midair, forgotten, forcing Castiel to face another reality. That selling art requires ‘social skills’, one of those strange skills Castiel admits to having eluded him since the day he was born.

So he learned again. There was no stopping, only moving forward.

Commissions didn't start until half a year later and that was another beginning. He got private commissions and those who got his art kept contact. He got referred, offered, and before he knew it, he had his displays in museums and projects in line. Whatever he did remain and it's part of the trade. But that’s why he secretly appreciates ice-sculpting. He never gets tired of watching them, see them leave the world not be judged.

The rest of his work? That’s for the audience to endure and for him to leave behind. It’s just another day of busting stones.

People clap in waves, motions blur in movements of heads from circular tables and seats surrounded by walls decorated by sparkling fairy lights. Cameras flash, catching the glass podium where the host is currently engaging attention on the stage. The host hovers around a modern artwork at the center, an art piece made of clay modestly done in the image of a slanting _T_ a new expression of individualism.

Castiel narrows his eyes, bringing his wine glass down the counter’s table.

“She’s got style and talent, but her form? Eh.”

Castiel turned deaf to the man speaking on his left. Everyone’s a critique, a favorite game. He doesn’t bother bringing up a conversation while drinking in the party’s bar corner where the dim lights hardly reveal any faces as the spotlight is on the stage.

“What art do you do?” asks the man again. If Castiel is good at anything, it’s the art of dodging and disappearing. It’s not the first time tonight. He stands up to leave.

“Not keen on making acquaintances?”

Castiel finally surveys at the man, covered in black suit and tie, dark hair and eyes. He’s one of those millionaires that scattered around, he assumes. A pretty good catch for a client in one of those unveiling parties hosted by a recent client of his, who has bought one of his art pieces displayed in the event.

Castiel has not reached that peak of fame, he’s done plenty of commissions and sculptures, and the few he made always received his gratitude, so here he is, waiting for the host and his wife— The MacLeod’s— as it was mentioned they wanted to meet him in person.

MacLeod is not unfamiliar to him—it’s a pretty powerful conglomerate group in the country whose business encompasses a broad range from investment companies, insurance companies, real estate firms and holds a record of sponsorship in performing and visual arts. The name is always attached to any corporate sponsorship that holds exhibits, gallery openings, even initiate events and full-blown promotions. It’s no wonder it takes a while to get his host’s time. That’s like waiting for the queen bee to be on her own.

The stage sparkles with a black background and glitter like spotlights, cameras, shadows of dozens of heads all seated in round tables in their expensive suits and high cut dress, but what Castiel appreciates the most is the ability of the crowd to ignore each other. He barely spoke two words since his arrival, preferring to disappear in the shadows since he knew no one here except the art agent of the little gallery back at St. Louis where his small studio is found.

Finding himself trying to escape attention, he merely nods at the guy and leaves.

The unveiling has just begun but the party has been on for hours. Glancing at his clock, he’s unsurprised it’s only nine in the evening. No one bothered with him as he goes, all occupied by varied artwork displayed in the hallway from painting, sculptures, potteries, and modern aesthetics.

The MacLeod’s grand unveiling in a five-star hotel did a lot of publicity—and he’s satisfied to have one of his artwork at the display. He’s spent his evening staring at the ‘jigsaw’ as he called it, that taking another peek before he calls it a night pulled him strongly.

He ducks away from groups, makes a quick round at the large atrium with the grand chandelier and majestic stairs, to the narrow passage with luminous lighting and hallway that smelled of scented wax until he finds himself in the same white corridor where the world changed drastically from the clamor of the outside to the unearthly peace and amity of artworks.

Castiel takes in the silence. His eyes feast on the inanimate objects so full of life. He will never fail to be in complete awe with everything his eyes can see. MacLeod sure knows the taste of artwork—splendidly done from around the world. He doesn’t want to think of all the trouble financially—it doesn’t seem to be the concern when you are a major sponsor. Wealth has its use when they can keep artworks in good condition so he’s not one to complain.

It’s the same feeling of content when he steps in the atrium. The feeling of entering another universe still makes him pause. Expressionists, realists, modern world arts. The paintings are wonderful, but it’s the 3D presentations that won his heart. Something about the physicality of the building a figure, the ability to touch them and make them into being. It’s each artist’s cup of teas.

Castiel pulls his head out of reverie as he steps down the familiar lane leading to where his masterpiece stands in the middle of a room.

He stops and blinks. He dismisses the idea of a ghost—for what would one do with his artwork? He’s not one to believe in the supernatural, but there a man stands—a tall guy in a complete white tux with white top hat standing in front of his art piece, the same spot he’s taken many times every time he returns to his object of affection.

To see someone else staring at it, casting a shadow on the floor where the room is lit golden, Castiel considers his options. He could return to the unveiling party and suffer the company of an elusive millionaire in a dark suit, or he could find another art piece to admire.

Or he could go home.

He chose the fourth option.

He slowly approached the man. The sculptor that he is, Castiel is well-versed with human anatomy and angles of the body. One look at the man has his brain lighting up at the perfect side view and the closer he gets, the more the man fills his curiosity. Who is he? What’s with his cryptic expression? It makes Castiel unnecessary nervous for his piece, but at the same time, eager to know what the man could see. Another voice of opinion from someone else is certainly appreciated.

His art piece is modern, a different set from his usual marbles. It’s a bar of silver on the side and full black in the narrow flat front, arching high in five foot in height— he worked for months. Modern artworks fascinated him as it can take any form and still present a distinctive expression.

Becoming impatient and curious at the same time, Castiel finally lands feet beside the man. He wasn’t ready at the assault of forest green eyes in the shade of early spring, nor the apple-colored lips that parted when they made eye contact. He’s certainly an eye to behold.

Castiel hesitates a little but composes himself. It’s strange how this kind of sensation is familiar… it’s the same he feels whenever he sees another work of art that could inspire him. He wanted to make the man his model, while the back of his head sings for him to be his muse. Confidence reeks from the man’s every sinew, self-assurance reflected on his bearing. The way he carried his broad shoulders so loose and relaxed, added with the boyish smirk that slowly curves on his well-shaped lips so vibrant and inviting, crinkles at the corner of his eyes like he’s thinking of something witty while keeping a straight face.

Castiel is momentarily blinded, but nothing could par with his marble-like expression, or so his brothers used to say.

“Enchanté,” says the man and his voice cracks something deep in Castiel he wished to investigate more. Does so by looking away and ignoring the guy completely. Yes, he’s not worked on his social skills, not when he’s got blocks and stones to cover his presence.

“What perfect artwork are you?” the man presses now that they have each other’s attention. “Are you for sale? Because I’d like to buy you a drink.” his eyes twinkle, staring at Castiel the same way he was staring at the art piece. His tone was not disrespectful, and yet Castiel doesn’t like it one bit.

“You’re looking at the wrong gallery,” he replies curtly. “East Avenue and Las Vegas should help you with any kind of purchase from Busty Clubs.”

“I like them non-bust just fine.” The conversation falls.

The twist in the man’s mouth presses into a cheeky grin. If Castiel were to interpret his feelings, he would say he’s torn between wanting to punch him and suck his lips dry. As if the man can read what he is thinking, catching Castiel staring at his lips, the man chews his bottom lips, red tongue licking out brazenly.

Castiel insides squirm, not sure if he’s pleased or offended. He’s never met anyone so blatantly flirtatious, that or he’s mocking him. They barely know each other so what was the point of mockery—? That left him with the other one and Castiel doesn’t know how to respond to it except being straightforward.

“I hope this place is filling your desire.” He says wryly.

“Sure do. Free drinks and extra mind puzzles to keep me company. Then angels dropping beside me from heaven. Are you here to help me answer this puzzle?”

“Puzzle?”

He gestures at Castiel’s piece as he blames it for everything. Castiel frowns. He takes a pause to finally separate the man from objectivity.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“This piece here is weird, just weird.”

Castiel presses his lips closed. “Weird?”

What is the definition of weird? In this modern time, is it supposed to be positive or negative? Castiel doesn’t usually get hungover people’s commentary, but there’s something about how this man had spent time staring at the art piece that’s making him actually care.

“Can I buy you a drink? I’ll tell you there.” He winks.

Castiel tilts his head. “The unveiling is not yet over and I need to speak to Mrs. MacLeod. I’d rather hear your opinion now.”

“They’re still not done with that unveiling thing? I’m bored.” his voice is impossibly deep but his face the opposite, like carving a boy’s expression in a man’s body.

“It barely began. I see no point why they would hurry it up to your liking, it’s the major event of this party. And you can leave any time you want, it’s not like they are detaining us.”

“Why leave when there’s so much beautiful stuff in here? I really want to take one home.” The smirk off his face stays and they now stand facing each other with Castile’s art piece the only space keeping them apart.

Except he’s staring at Castiel again who caught on.

“You can’t do that.”

“I can try.” He smirks, all saucy. “I like pretty things.”

Castiel gets the humor in bad taste. The man’s gaze is all telling and Castiel never remembered allowing anyone to see him as an object of desire. He understands the man is cocky because of his appearance. A guy who thinks he can get everything with a wink because he is attractive. What simpleton.

Hands tightening into balls, he gives the man a narrowed look and it was a mistake. The man has prime looks—handsome and well-endowed in all respect, strong jawline, the curve lines of his lips, the vein running down his to the outline of his body hidden under the suit. Castiel is an artist and from an artist’s point of view—he wants to strip the man and see everything he is hiding.

_Everything._

Damn his instinct to want to see complete anatomy because he’s certain he’ll find something there he’s never seen. And no, he’s not becoming a pervert, he tells himself.

For a single man to outdo any arts and reduce them to what they really are—lifeless. Castiel frowns at his art piece. Its beauty is still there, but in comparison to what’s in front of him, there’s just no way of winning. But exactly what here is weird?

The man follows his gaze like he read his mind.

“It’s weird like one of those Picasso. Maybe the artist like the old guy so much—"

“The artist doesn’t like Picasso so much.” Castiel snaps acridly.

The man snorts. “Who doesn’t like Picasso?”

“Aside from his immediate family, maybe the rest of the audience. No one likes Picasso in the modern world.”

“Are you kidding?”

“I don’t kid.”

There’s a pause. The handsome features don’t diminish despite the growing creases on his forehead. His body language stiffens, but it’s the cockiness of his attitude, the proud throw of his chin that gets Castiel gritting his teeth. 

He hopes the man doesn’t push things because when it comes to arts, Castiel hardly thinks their opinions both matter—except if this man wants to straighten out.

“Man, it’s _Picasso!”_ green-eyed grassy eyes blurt out, negate of all other reasons. “The man’s a genius!”

He’s handsome, but he’s all that.

“You’re obviously ignorant of the background,” He’s not supposed to insist, it’s not important, but this man makes him want to stand up, to correct him in all manner until he is satisfied. Bend his willful desire to get Castiel to agree—because that’s what he can feel this is all about. The man wanting to impress him only to backfire.

And Castiel refuses to bow down.

“So? We’re judging artistic value based on the guy’s background. Whatever happened to separating art from its master? That’s like saying his arts are born as bad seeds. And it’s _Picasso_. His name’s practically the meaning of art—"

“Then you have seen no real art.”

“I’m looking at one right now.” The man nods at the object between them and Castiel holds his breath. And the man cocks an eyebrow like he’s challenging Castiel to dispute it. To be called an art, Castiel thinks is overcompensating.

“Are you a collector?” the man asks curiously.

“I’m not a collector.”

“Then what are you?”

“That’s none of your concern.” Castiel injects—who is this guy? A client? A collector? A giant tycoon with a gigantic ego? Those who are used to getting what they want at a snap of their fingers? Spoiled men with a silver spoon in their mouths who keep wanting and wanting and demanding—

Castiel drops his eyes to his masterpiece. Now the man has done it. Taken away the reason why Castiel comes back here—this piece which has been a symbol of calm and tranquility for him now is ruined. Now every time he sees it, he will forever remember this man with great green eyes, luscious lips and idiocy—and his own foolishness to get so worked out about it. He can’t help his temperament, that’s what his master said when he was just an apprentice.

“Damn it.” He hisses under his breath, but he can’t make himself step away from the glorious object. Why they still hang around after the exchange, Castiel doesn’t want to know. He wants to walk out—but why would he—that will show defeat. And this is his piece.

“What is it supposed to be? I mean I know the tag calls it ‘ _Angel on Air’…_ but I mean look at it… where’s the halo? And what’s this shaped like an overgrown crane? Try and argue with me that this stuff that looks like Picasso’s—"

“It’s not Picasso’s,”

“Well, it's sure hell looks like one.”

Castiel’s ears redden as he glares. Of the most disrespectful things—for his art to be compared to the artist he detests the most—?

To an onlooker, they may look like a couple of idiots battling over a scaled art to keep them from wrangling each other’s neck. Castiel sees no reason to get so riled up. The man may have been ignorant of the facts of a well-known artist, and he Castiel knows better than to get engaged in such trivial topic— about Picasso no less to be compared to his own like Castiel has not spent eight fruitful years working alongside some of the major sculptors who have made names making public art and monuments—like he did not knock himself out trying to outdo himself every day—

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says deeply affronted.

The man gets the hint of dismissal but to Castiel’s annoyance, he still doesn’t move from where he stands. What do you tell someone you do not wish to be talking with to just disappear? If wishing can make it a reality, he’s sure a lot of people would have vanished by then. The man turns away. Castiel can’t help wanting to have the last words.

“That’s its wings.” He grinds his teeth.

“Where’s the body?”

“Who says angels have bodies?” he retorts.

“Well, what is it supposed to be? I’ve been standing here for half an hour trying to figure out where in heaven’s name is this angel, I mean there’s no harp. What kind of artist—?”

The man suddenly gasps, earning Castiel’s glare. He sees the man swallow his last word as something that occurred in his head. His green eyes bulged from his sockets and his lips plaster close like it just hit him.

“You are the artist, aren’t you?”

Castiel grimaces.

“Oh… it’s really yours?” the man straightens up a look of horror painting his handsome face. If Castiel can put him in canvas to replace _The Horror,_ he will. Except this man will still manage to make it dreamy, he believes.

“It’s no longer physically mine, it’s the curator and the host of this event. But yes. And since you are entitled to your own opinion, I will leave you at that.” He turns his heels away, feeling his body shaking that if he stayed another minute, he might actually punch the man if not for his own concern for his hands.

“Wait—hey!” his deep voice echoes in the room but Castiel doesn’t bother.

“ _I like Picasso!”_ He says rather petulantly, probably testing how Castiel is going to respond now that they’ve said their piece.

“I’m sure you do, good evening.” Castiel calls back and leaves. He’s not putting up with it, certainly not no matter how much attractiveness he felt towards the nameless stranger.

It’s not like they’ll be seeing more of each other, contrary to belief, the world is in fact big. It’s right there that he says goodbye to the stranger and marches back to the party where he consequently meets Mrs. MacLeod whose charm had Castiel succumbing to her request of a special commission.

By the end of the night, Castiel feels his pain for the night has gained him a new commission to work on that he almost forgets meeting the stranger.


	2. The Model

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel finally settles in a luxurious studio and proceeds to meet new people.

_A month later…_ he finds himself outside the address Ms. MacLeod provided.

Castiel stares hard at the large front gate, wondering if the space for the trees in a forest, or just a garden. He did not move from the backseat of the grab, nor did he pull his eyes away from the towering gates with CCTV on both sides, the gigantic cream wall surrounding a grand mansion of his next client.

“It’s an extra buck if you want me to drive you all the way there, that’s a huge house.” the driver tells him.

“There’s no need, I can manage,” Castiel says quietly. No wonder the lady of the house paid him a complete 80 percent—no going around about a ‘ _third-third-third’_ payment contract to secure his services at the privacy of her house. She is filthy rich.

Paying the grab driver, he hauls his brown leather strapped bag to his shoulders on to the concrete pavement, staring oddly at the compact device before pressing it.

“Hello.” He begins uncertainly.

 _“Who is this?”_ comes a neat British tone from the security side.

“Um… Castiel Novak. The sculptor. I am here to see Ms. MacLeod. She’ll know.”

“Oh yes. We are expecting _you_.”

The single gate on his side opens automatically and another security in black suit greets him, offers him a sedan car ride where he understands the garden is too broad to walk under the sun.

Castiel bothers a small thank you to the driver before stepping onto the marble pathway. It only took him three seconds before his jaw drops open.

Inside the rich walls are the most fascinating architecture Castiel had seen in his life— _and that’s saying something from his own background._ That’s because on the left side of the path is a grand pavilion with a design so intricate it made his heart skip a bit. This is of course a perfect imitation of what Castiel had seen in Italy before. A three-dimensional multifaceted marble wall design constructed like a jigsaw out on the garden, flooding his sight with architecture generating a dialogue of geometries produced on a marble.

Without really thinking about it, he steps out of the main path straight to the interior of the three-vertical-surfaced open pavilion. Castiel is never one to stray, but once his art calls for it, he always knew where to follow.

Extruding marble designs met his palm. This is the beauty of home construction unlike in galleries where no one was allowed to touch anything. The cracks and holds, the recesses of the surface awed him. He walks around the wall, fingers still on the fractured surface of perfection, lifting his eyes to the overarching roof that showed the sky and the green leaves brushing with the wind.

Castiel holds his breath when he reached the back of the pavilion. Where there were intricate measured jigsaws on the other side of the masterpiece calculatedly put together, the back was no less than an art. Like veins of trees underneath a smooth surface of marble, creating loops like DNA. Castiel stares but didn’t dare touch, his fingers digging on the leather strap of his bag. No, free or not, there are some arts that no matter how much you touch, will never quench your thirst. And there are some arts even when right before your eyes, you’d never want to soil.

Quietly pulling his eyes away from the beauty

That’s when it spoke to him, for all artists always leave a message for the deciphering eyes.

It’s _free._

 _“You there, pretty boy. Proceed to the main hall, if you please.”_ Barks the megaphone from somewhere in the mansion, making Castiel jump a little. He slowly walks back to the pathway and finally heads to the mansion with outstanding marble pillars. He doesn’t have to knock as he was met with a servant in a smashing a hundred-dollar black coat and Italian shoes. Castiel smiles how the white gloves must be more expensive than his comfy than his leather bag.

He was led inside a large living room complete with those Victorian firesides with detailed symmetrical lacing. He was asked to sit down on one of those designed red long couches, but he was much mesmerized by the portrait of the very person who hired him for the job hanging above the fireside.

Not five minutes later, he hears her voice chirping on her cellphone. Following the voice, he walks out of the living room to the hallway where she was currently perched on the stairs.

“Of course, love, I will be there. You think I’d miss your tea party for the world? No, no Frederick is a very handsome man, but I rather keep him occupied in his yachts than bring him in one of the vultures’ house—yes, dear, we are the vultures. Oh, more _distractions_.”

Castiel watches the slender woman with very large red hair, the feisty lady at Art’s exhibition only a week ago. “Castiel. No, not I wasn’t talking to you Pamela, I’m talking to the sexy sculptor remember I was talking to you about? Well, that’s what happens when you don’t surround yourself with _art,_ dear. You don’t get to meet the sexiest people with pure souls in the land. I’ll talk to you again.”

She hangs up and strides to Castiel with her right hand extended. Castiel takes her it and lifts it up to his lips. He sees her eyes twinkle.

“Oh, dear me. I can’t get enough of your eyes.” She says demurely, hooking her arm on his arm, “Tell me I can keep you after the statue is done?” Castiel smiles.

“Your house is splendid. The pavilion outside the garden. I wouldn’t mind being lost there at all.”

“Ha! I had that installed last year and no one even mentioned it. You really do have a gift for these things, Castiel. Well, do tell me if you’re serious. Who knows, I might just give you that piece if my fiancé says no to my proposal.”

“I believe he is the man you hired me to make the statue for?”

“Oh, yes. He is a dear, he is magnificent and—the sketches and photos you send me are works of an angel.”

“Thank you, I have them with me. As a matter of fact, I have a few preliminary designs for the scale model too according to your preference.”

“Sounds great, let me see them once we get comfy.”

She led him along a corridor just beyond the living room, passing a few more rooms in the spacious house. Castiel memorizes the directions entirely, being an observant person in general. It’s safe to say the mansion has just been finished construction and is in the polishing phase. The dust has been removed neatly but Castiel doesn’t mind, he works hand to hand with dust every day.

Most of the rooms are still empty as the library to his right lacking the books but the study table, a giant pool house with no water, and pass the sitting room for tea? Ms. MacLeod obviously foreign he lounge to the veranda until he is led to an empty room—not so empty because the moment his eyes catch a glimpse of 8-feet tall marble at the center of the room, with clay and cast on the corner, the new sculpting tools by the workbench, he knew this is his studio.

“I got the piece of marble from your local dealer, you said you preferred her so. You don’t need to pay rent anywhere, this house will be yours for the entire month. They only just delivered the furniture, there’s a couch right there on the corner if you want to rest. Sebastian, my butler, will take care of your necessities, on a weekly basis, he still stays in my main house in Malibu.”

Castel nods. It’s solitude from outside activity that made him agree in the first place. Already, he misses his studio apartment studio.

“Do you want to look at my portfolio?” he inquires, already halfway to open his strapped bag but she just waved him away.

“There’s no need. I tell you Castiel when I recognize your talent with that baby ‘Angel on Air’, I knew you were perfect for this project. Have I told you I saw your other private statues? Yes, there’s one of them from a friend of mine, she recommended you. You made men feel jealous of that work of your hand. The art, the touch, the curves… oh…” her smile is playful, her eyes bright. Castiel knows he believes her every word for it, “It still gives me orgasm thinking of those dollies you said you made of living subjects. It’s the same thing I want here, but with my future husband’s face.”

Castiel pushes his bag down to his side. It’s common for private commissions to be a dedicated gift to a loved one, though very rare unless, very much, bordering to narcissism.

“I will still let you hold on the preliminary design. You have already approved the clay model.” Castiel quietly walks to the chips and marbles on the corner, nodding at the quality from Italy Castiel never thought he’d see in his life.

“You said you won’t be around the city for days?” he rounds to her inquiringly, “Do you want me to keep you posted on email? I have a website where you can see the work as it progresses, the videos if you have the time—” Her eyes are still bright, Castiel knows she won’t have time for those. “I will call you if I am mold-making and casting which will be irreversible in the future. The statue is standalone so I won’t need to communicate with any of your architects or construction managers, but I will need the line open with you, Ms. MacLeod.”

“Please, call me Rowena.” She parts his cheek with a wink, “Don’t be so serious, dear, I got a feeling you plan to finish this in two weeks than five months?”

Castiel stares at her. Works like this take a year even, but if he is to be undisturbed. The lady can see through her the way she rolls her eyes and pats his shoulder next.

“Please, you’re not allowed to stay here for more than eight hours. The contract says a month, not two weeks--darling, I don’t want to come back here to meet a zombie. I still want to see that handsome face be under the sun. Go out, work at your own pace. Stop glaring at everything, it will scare away even my security here, but I suppose he’s someone you really need to scare away.”

“As long as he doesn’t get in my way,” Castiel replies already staring at the tall windows with the view of a pond outside the garden. It was a very beautiful view and the sky is so blue.

“Oh, he won’t bother you as long as you don’t bother him, Mr. Ketch is a professional, but I believe he will find it hard not to flirt with you. If you men are gonna hook up make sure it’s not someplace with the camera or Ketch will get the best of you.”

Castiel keeps his expression blank despite the turn of his stomach.

“You are extremely generous, Ms. M—I mean, Rowena. Not all clients can extend this much hospitality.”

“Oh, Castiel, believe me, you are _an artist yourself_.” She sighs with the corners of her eyes crinkling. “I dunno what it is about you but… you just have this aura about you… so innocent and pure.”

“That’s not true, I have my own dirty laundries…” Castiel pauses just enough to catch himself. She winks at him like she knows and leans back to the chair.

“Oh, well, as long as you got the size of his dick correct, you are perfect to me. Believe me, I’ll know.”

Castiel ponders on that. It’s very clinical to ask this sort of thing, though he only just met Ms. MacLeod and would not know her reaction based on her character. His few friends often tell him he has a poor judge of character.

“I know we have agreed to the final pose imitating the ‘The Dying Gaul,’ but if you really want the exact measurement, I need to have a reference to his genitalia’s size to know its shape and its heft.” He gives her a plain look. She doesn’t even bat an eyelid.

“Of course, you do, but oh, no dear, no need to actually take his little junior, no. God knows what my friends would… anyway, that’s why I have the model for that. You get a good look at him and copy everything. The model I chose is perfect. You will meet him later too. He will come and you give him your instructions, fix schedule.”

Castiel nods, this too was part of the agreement. Though most of the body parts are cast in his studio, Ms. MacLeod has very a unique taste and does not want anything already existing. Plus, the fact that she wants the body to be of the life-size, living model. Her terms are very _specific._

“Your fiancé is a very lucky man.” Castiel repeats the same thing he remembers his friend told him to say because Castiel is a man of few words. He thinks Ms. MacLeod deserved it for the thoughtful gesture.

Ms. MacLeod practically purrs in his ear.

“Oh, he is. And he knows it very well.” She lets go of his shoulder, giving him the freedom to explore his eyes the large empty room like a canvass—where Castiel will be finishing his next masterpiece. Castiel Novak has had up and downs like most struggling nameless sculptors in the field of arts. This is the first time he feels like he won’t need to give anything away except his time.

Rowena tells him more about the subject over teatime, but mostly she just wants to talk more about arts and sculptors. She begins interviewing Castiel about his background, asking about initial inspirations, artists he’s worked with, and how many pieces he has in the market. She was surprised to hear he only got fourteen out there, most are already with private collectors, while five are commissions which makes this his fifteenth art. The way he was able to talk about how he doesn’t mind destroying his own work gave her a jolt and reminded him to please take care of his art piece in the house. She tells him the house is really abandoned most of the time except for the housekeeper who by no means is to disturb the artist, giving Castiel the impression that he will really have the whole stage for his own with nothing to get in his way—

_Perfection._

His cup is almost finished when he finally had the chance to ask what has been bothering him all this time.

Castiel stares out the window again when her next question suddenly has him turning deadpan at the lovely owner.

“Do you still need anything else?”

Castiel stares at her thoughtfully before finally finding himself staring at the heiress again.

“What can you say about the design?”

Press of thin smile and flickers of lashes in his direction, Ms. MacLeod chirps, “Oh, it’s perfect dear. A defeated warrior on the floor showing the world his greatness while bare? I’d put that in my bedroom if I don’t have my husband to share. But the best part is I not only hired the perfect sculptor by the perfect model.” Rowena winks at him mischievously, “I won’t make jokes with you, this is like sculpting _David_ himself. You will be like Michelangelo when you finished. I don’t know why, but I think you’ll like him.”

“If he can stay still for four hours straight, I think I will,” Castiel says, already curious to see his prospect model. Ms. MacLeod’s recognizes beauty—the same with Castiel in terms of perfection and symmetry. If she says the model is perfect, he believes her.

A few more questions about the model got Castiel the basic background of the man. A man making ends meet by modeling at the local University. Ms. MacLeod met him through another artist who recommended Winchester’s name as a top tier model. With that kind of little background, Castiel is confident the guy is a professional. And if the guy has a solid background in a University there should not be any problem filing complaints if it comes to it. Castiel has been in this business for a very long time, he knows how models can be both made straight of art.

Ms. MacLeod leans back on the chair giving Castiel a curious glance judging by her narrowed look, the tip of the finger by her cheeks, and slightly pursed lips.

“You said you have plans to go abroad someday? How soon is that?”

“Not until I finish your sculpture which might just be less than five months no less…”

“Oh, and you’ll be there working for…?”

“It’s just for travel… just to have a plain idea what real sculptures look like. Italy has been on my bucket list ever since I began this career. It’s just taking a long time before I make it come true, but I’ll be there.”

She nods thoughtfully.

“You know, my son Crowley lives in Italy. He supervises our financing agency there. If you want, I can help you—”

“It’s alright,” Castiel says quietly, “

“I’m speaking as a sponsor, Castiel. If you believe your lack of experience of seeing the outside world is hindering your full potential, then I’m here to make an artist out of you the world hasn’t seen. I mean, my company does a lot of sponsorship for little—and you’re a living artist. What can we lose?”

Castiel stares at her open-mouthed. “You don’t really need to—”

“Oh, I insist,” she leans forward this time with a serious glaze in her eyes, “My son can also use a little redesigning in one of his own hotels, I’m sure he’s uncanny ability to recognize talent will also recognize you. I’ll give him a call and before the end of your work, we’ll get you right there just fine, you handsome boy.”

“Then you don’t need to pay me for my work here,” Castiel says determinedly.

“Nonsense, this is sponsorship, not a loan. Just give me my husband’s gift and we can both be happy at the end of the year. I can’t wait to see the outcome of everything.

Ms. MacLeod left after an hour. Castiel still can’t believe his luck. He knew it was too hard to pass, and yet to accept it as a gift—he promises to make the best out of this project.

Sebastian toured Castiel of everything he needed in the mansion. Most of the rooms are polished, the kitchen especially complete with things needed for one to live by. The butler tells him the refrigerator is working enough for a two-week supply. The bathrooms are working, the pool was still undermaintained but most of the bedrooms are still locked, leaving Castiel the guest room with a king-sized bed which to him was incredibly spacious.

“If the food is not to your satisfaction and is still feeling peckish, please do not hesitate to call me.”

“But this is too much, I only need the space and she’s paid me enough already,” he tells Sebastian who gives him a judging look behind the masked deadpan Castiel can easily imitate.

“Ms. MacLeod wants the best output, thus want you to be in good condition every day. It is not an option. So if you ever need anything else, please reach me here.” The butler hands him a calling card, making Castiel squint because how the heck will Sebastian get here from Malibu?

This was answered when Rowena bid him goodbye with a peck on his cheek. Pulling on her shawl she eyes him one last time.

“See you around. The jet plane’s waiting. And don’t forget the model’s coming to see you in the afternoon, dear. Dean Winchester is my baby boy.”

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel repeats, the name having a nice ring on it, but he gets distracted easily when Sebastian walks by, chins up, following the Lady.

Castiel wonders if the butler has his own jet plane too.

Left alone finally, the first thing Castiel did is to lock himself in what he now calls his studio. For five whole minutes, he just stood there in the middle of the room, contemplating. Two tall window view on his right side, giving the room just enough light from the sun, enough to keep the shadows and give him a view of nature.

He doesn’t need that. Glad that giant dark blue drapes are on the corner, he visualizes where to put everything just like in his studio. He could have done the commission there from the comfort of his own studio but, but Ms. MacLeod wanted it done in the privacy of her mansion. After convincing Castiel to stay as a resident sculptor with everything he needed to be provided, Castiel now is left to organize at the number of expensive chisel and clay, he thinks it’s a good space—but too much space. Back in his apartment, his dust-covered, concrete floor and cramped studio crowd him with 5 feet figurative plasters of famous replicas common to his trade which includes _David_ which Ms. MacLeod saw on his exhibit.

For a month he is going to make the same replica but of another proportion. Another man that would contest _David_ in physical form. This Dean Winchester should be a good piece to criticize except he doesn’t have the right sizes yet. Ms. MacLeod forgot to provide that information—clearly set on surprising him. He wears his protective tan coat and thick gloves he before he quietly turns to his workbench and ran his fingers on the newly bought tools, most of which are industrial sets. He still brought his personal tools but the power tools he saw at the garage is commendable—the same tools he uses at his own studio except for the ones here are new.

He sees the light set of grinders and diamond blades on the other table and the air tool that works like magic with various sizes of die-grinders, angle grinders, and polishers. There’s a brand-new overhead crane and dust collector too. This three-month studio is beginning to sound like a dream.

Castiel licks his lips with the sense of itchiness he always gets when in front of deformed rocks just waiting to be made into something more beautiful and prominent. An itch beating at the base of his stomach, like how painters would be upon an empty canvas.

He takes another glance at the open windows bearing the blue sky. Walking to it, he opens both windows, letting the wind in for a while. It would not be good to have such strong wind in later so leaning out, he inhales. He takes in as much fresh air as he can, closes his eyes, listened to the wind like it’s the last time he will see them.

He closes the window.

When he returned to his workbench, he knows more or less how he will begin. Removing his long sleeves leaving only his tops, he pulls on a black work shirt over his head. He eyes his tools ranging from the hammer, varied points of his chisel, compass, ruler, and magnifiers, to the study casts on the next table, spatulas, and wires. Next, he frowns as he rounds to the marble. Pulling on the black apron, he measured the marble about 8 feet tall, marking areas he would need with a pencil. There is a crowbar and metal ladder just as he requested, but this piece here will do for the entire month. There are three pieces he needed to be done to complete the entire set. He needs them scaled too but he needs the model’s measurement for that. For now, he will begin removing the biggest blocks.

The floor is ironically clean. He can’t wait to get them filled with dust later, fill this empty room with nothing but white dust, so he begins by climbing the metal ladder beside the boulder carrying a drill. He sets himself at the top, ten feet from the ground. Setting his jaw, he begins filling the room with the sound of the angle grinder, breaking pieces of the marble from the top, incisions per incisions on jutting corners with mild force. Satisfaction clings to him at every sound of the falling pieces on the floor and before he knows it, he’s smiling.

Yes. This is his world. He barely had an hour left to by himself when—

 _“What the blazes is that sound?”_ cries a sharp voice in British.

Castiel glances up with a frown. He has forgotten how many minutes have passed. Maybe hours. The sun doesn’t light the space the same. Castiel can point the time in the past afternoon. He doesn’t wear any accessories when in the presence of his art, his watch is left on the working bench while he grinds the angle of the arms. And he doesn’t enjoy being interrupted either.

Glaring from where he sits on the ladder to the door, he sees a broadly built man with a square jaw, black eyes standing by the doorway in a suave black suit, earpiece on his side. The security Ms. MacLeod was talking about.

Castiel’s mouth flattens in a line. The guy moves forward looking curiously at Castiel who stands on the ladder higher above him. Removing his goggles, he eyes the intruder irritably.

He doesn’t speak. He just eyes the man now standing beneath him.

“I was distracted by the sound.” The man in the dark suit says without blinking. Castiel raises the grinder on his hand, deadpan.

“Get used to it.” He returns to his work, almost completely forgetting there’s another interrupting human on his space when he hears a clearing of throat amidst the sound of the grinder. Castiel didn’t stop at first, a part of him wants to let the sound drown the stupid human noise blabbering behind him.

“Excuse me, I believe I require attention.”

Castiel stares at the slab before him, wonders if he can melt it with his glare, then carefully stares down the man who’s certainly making it to his unfriendly list.

He spins the diamond blade on his work again, “Please leave. This is not a place where interaction will be commonplace. I require _privacy.”_

“Well, I suppose this is us making friends?” the British man now sounds exasperated, “Fine, just come down, we need to talk about security measures. You should really consider your artistic temper over a guy who can potentially be your hero.”

Castiel passes judgment as he finally puts down the grinder with gritted teeth. Pulling from his ladder seat, he climbs down the pedestal to face the head security, a little taller and bulkier than he. Squinting, he realizes he is still wearing his goddamn goggles and removes them too. This way he can send the bubbling anger over the creature for interrupting and hopes it never gets repeated.

He watches as the man’s eyes widen a little, his pupils scanning deep all over Castiel’s face. Castiel is not so amenable.

“What?” he snaps.

“Ah… I didn’t know the artist was such a work of art.” He flashes this smile so dazzling Castiel wants to poke it with his hammer.

“So?” Castiel growls testily.

The smile lessens into a grit.

“Okay. I can see we’re making a connection here. Just to be clear, you think I am bothering you??’

Castiel tilts his head. He doesn’t _think it._

“You are not the model, so you are.” he returns to his workbench, brows contracted to pick up the hammer and chisel. He can hear the man’s shoes following him. When finally, it stops right behind him, Castiel lifts his eyes to the opposite wall, clearly not happy.

Apparently, you really can’t have everything.

He stands up out of self-courtesy but did not miss scowling at their first eye contact. He can remember the voice of the guy barking at him from his monitor. This uncanny looking guy with beetle eyes and square jaw staring at him with the same hunger of those gallery onlookers who cannot touch a piece of art from its glass.

Castiel doesn’t lower his hackles. Comparing himself to a piece of art, what kind of a bighead dope he’s become.

“Name’s Arthur Ketch.” Says the guy primly, moving so close to Castiel’s space. He extends a hand. Castiel raises hands full of hammer and chisel.

“I believe I already introduced myself.” Castiel holds his ground, looking the man straight in the eyes, “I would rather be disturbed in such a manner once the project is on the works. I do not tolerate interruption.”

Ketch stares in both his eyes like he’s looking for something. Castiel tilts his head in arrogance, then let his brow raise a little threateningly.

“Clearly,” breathed the security, stepping a little back. “You are—”

“What about security measures?” Castiel interrupts, understanding why Ms. MacLeod would warn him and in fact, is questioning why _she_ put him there in the first place knowing there’s only going to be the two of them—maybe some of his subordinates around.

“Oh, just to let you know our curfew hours—"

“I don’t do curfew.”

There’s another exchange of glares. Castiel knows for a fact there’s no such thing as a curfew. Seeing that he’s not going to be convinced, the head of security rolls his eyes.

“Fine. Patrols will go around every morning, afternoon, and roundabout in the evening. You can invite friends over—in fact you can throw a party and I would not sue you—granted—favors—”

“I don’t do parties. I do not have the luxury. But there is the case of the model named Dean Winchester and I don’t want you giving him the same treatment right now. For his security, none of you can interrupt our daily session, especially if he is to be made comfortable in this vicinity.”

“Am I that distracting you then?”

“You are clearly just disturbing me, there’s a difference.”

The guy is doing a poor job but Castiel doesn’t question him when he hasn’t seen the man in action. He hopes there will be as little action as possible. The gaze turned on him isn’t so friendly and Castiel is beginning to feel stuffed. He needs to return to work.

Ketch scowls. “Okay, I read you. So I am only to disturb you guys when the house is on fire?”

“Blow the whistle,” Castiel suggests.

“Oh, cold.” A sly smile. “So you are the grand artist for the master’s sculpture? It should look something like him or the Lady would get disappointed for not having anything to show for her party next month.”

Castiel doesn’t reply. Silence prevails and Castiel basks in it. Wished for it. There so many things to do and this person is about as close as to having a cast plaster of himself on the wall, living, and breathing.

“Any questions, Castiel?”

“Please call me Novak. None. I will behave as long as you do.”

“Oh, but I don’t mind being a little naughty.”

“Find another place and another person to annoy, will you?” Castiel growls, earning a surprised look from the man. “Or need I say more?”

He was so satisfied to see Ketch’s face drain. Oh, he knows the spot now. Castiel turns to the ladder when he feels the man stand beside him again. He whips around but Ketch corners him on the ladder. A sneaky look on his face.

“If there’s any problem. Any problem at all, you can call me here.”

Castiel looks down between them to the walkie-talkie the guard is handing him. Taking it with touching any skin on that hand, he carefully angles away, not wanting any contact with an obviously very lewd guard who was worse than a dog on heat.

“Put it on the table, my hand is full. And please don’t forget I’m holding a hammer.” He grits his teeth. The guard looked warily down his hand, eyes flickering as he remembers how sculptors can be armed.

Mentally noting to keep away any distractions for the need of privacy in making arts, there’s another knock on the door.

Castiel nearly curses.

“What now?” he whispers, glancing at the doorway, seeing another man—a familiar man— very beautiful in flannel atop a white shirt and loose jeans gawking at them awkwardly. Castiel stares at him trying to remember where he had seen that face. Even Ketch can’t seem to take his eyes away from the newcomer.

Another distraction.

“Uh… is this Novak’s studio?” green eyes jump from Castiel to Ketch with a plastered smile that reveals flashing white teeth, its brilliance jogging something in Castiel’s memory but at the questioning look he gives Castiel and Ketch, the artist doesn’t like his conclusion. The model clears his throat, looking embarrassed.

“Sorry—um…am I disturbing anything?”

Great. Now the model thinks he’s having an affair with the rabid dog.

“He was just leaving.” Castiel glares at Ketch, sees him eyes the model looking suspiciously aroused. Rolling his eyes at the man’s ricocheting lust, he clambers up the ladder again just to give himself space.

“You, leave. You enter,” he snaps pulling his goggles down.

“Mr. Novak.”

Castiel clicks his tongue impatiently and begins drilling again, ignoring the rest of the world. The sound serves enough to aggravate the security head. Ketch leaves but Castiel sees him stop in front of the model to take a good look at the model too, curious to the point of leering which made Castiel promise himself to lock the doors of the studio with the model or not and may request to Rowena _not to allow_ any security camera in the room or he would quit the job no matter how much money he had to return.

The model doesn’t back down from the sizing up. He stares at Ketch right in the eye like he’s about to eat him and this aggressive display makes Castiel think of the man’s ability to stay still for hours—he looks sturdy enough.

Strangely enough… where has he seen the man…?

Ketch disappears. Castiel peels away the marble block, waiting for the model to stop near the ladder.

“I hope I wasn’t disturbing anything?”

“Are you Dean Winchester?” Castiel spits out word for word as he drills on the marble, not looking at the model.

“Uh… yeah…”

Castiel takes his time working on the slab and he almost forgets someone else was there until he hears a clearing of a throat.

“Uh, listen, I’m not sure if you remember, me but uh… we’ve met before?”

“Mmm,” Castiel hums, narrowing his eyes at his target and waits.

“Umm… I’m sorry about what happened at the party… I uh, no disrespect, really, I was just really _drunk_ … if that works.”

Castiel stops and pulls his goggles from his face. He stares down at the mode—

“What are you talking abo—”

_Green eyes—_

Castiel leans back in surprise, losing balance at the sudden jolt. The ladder topples sideward, and he’s falling in slow-motion— he sees the world turn upside down—sees the marble went pass as he goes down, hears a loud thud, the sound of metal hitting the ground— he can’t—

He lands on something hard, then his vision gets a clear view of nothing but green. Castiel’s heart skips a beat when he realized he landed straight on the model’s strong arms—the one with red lips and green eyes from the gallery—how could he forget—

There are a few seconds where they just stare at each other, it’s almost awkward.

“Um… I take back what I said. _I hate Picasso.”_

[ __ ](https://diminuel.tumblr.com/post/632795416556093440/art-masterpost-for-the-dying-gaul-by-spnsmile-i)


	3. The Bust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a studio is not big enough for the two of them

Castiel’s mouth drops open as he realizes who his model is and, in a flash, the night of the unveiling, the beautiful man under the golden shaded room wearing a white suit, tall and handsome who he initially thought was one of those princely guy tycoons who is used to getting what they want—

_His Picasso loving god!_

Castiel stares at him long. It takes him a while to put two pieces together—of the man he abhors back at the party, and this man here with the background he just read. He imagines the same man with the privilege to indulge himself at parties and give an opinion on everything, and then this guy who works part-time and had to arrange a schedule for his availability. And yet…

The man smiles, lips too pretty, too close. Panic rises in his chest at the proximity—his body heats up, face flushing at the tender smile the model is giving him. Like again, he is reading his mind.

“Let me go…” he clears his throat. He scrambles to his feet, Dean Winchester easily letting him go. There’s another moment of awkward silence, but Castiel doesn’t look away this time.

“You remember me?”

Castiel frowns. “Elbow art learner.”

Dean presses lips, “I didn’t know it was your art, and really—I’m sorry. But I was admiring it— it was really… art.”

“Mmm,” Castiel nods looking around to distract himself. He bends down to pick up the fallen drill while Dean quickly helped out straightening the ladder. Castiel puts the drill on the workbench then stepped to help Dean with the ladder too. They both looked at each other on opposite sides of the metal ladder, catching each other gazes.

Dean speaks first, inclining his head to one side.

"I brought hot coffee... the shop's on my way here and I figured... I'd get to my sculptor's good books," Dean laughs on his own, "I guess that didn't work, huh?"

"Coffee?" Castiel glances at the table near the door and the red couch.

“So uh… you’re the artist?”

“You don’t see anyone else.” When silence fell again and there’s too much staring, Castiel pulls himself away to clear his head, “Come closer, I need to get your height.”

“Isn’t it on my resume?”

“Who knows. You might’ve grown in the last couple of days and I’m a perfectionist.”

“Are you?” Dean did this lip popping sound that brought tingles in Castiel’s skin.

“I said come closer. We need to get your measurement.”Castiel says again, finally staring at the model. He studies _Dean Winchester._ Not for the first time, he must admit to himself what a work of art Dean Winchester. Had someone—anyone— had told him he would be looking straight at someone worthy enough to align his own statue in the middle of Tuscany—the place where sculptors the best sculptors gather to meet the world’s finest sculptors—Castiel would have appreciated if he was warned.

“Um… about what happened last time—”

Castiel turns to him flatly.

“Forget it. That’s not the reason we are here right now. We are here for one reason alone and that is to finish Ms. MacLeod’s sculpture of his husband. Apart from that, there is nothing else we should concern ourselves with.”

“I disagree.”

Castiel swallows hard. He lets go of the hammer and finally faces the man.

Dean Winchester is the epitome of all the beauty depicted in all Roman mythology, the very essence of why Athenian masters begins their arduous process of shaping the gods and depict these divine creatures into something tangible, something the eyes can understand. Something people can appreciate. _Can touch._

_It all stands in front of him now, all in just one man._

_Breathtaking. Beautiful._

And fucking annoying.

“And why do you disagree?”

Dean shrugs. “We’re going to work on a project, right? Isn’t it important to have a harmonious relationship with each other? I mean—we had a bad start? At least we can fix that first before we eat each other alive. Right? I mean—at least I want to apologize.”

Castiel pauses. That’s the last thing he expected from the model. Sincerity is pictured in his dual green and Castiel really hasn’t really forgotten how they have affected him the first time he saw them. It’s also impossible for Castiel not to notice the sprinkle of freckles in his good-natured face, the dark sandy hair, and his eye. If only he can include the wonderful color of this man’s eyes.

Still cocky in all respect.

“Fine. Apology accepted.”

Dean smiles all ray and sunshine, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes too sincere and there’s no doubting his actual emotion at being forgiven—his lips—Castiel’s throat dries. He judges too quickly—he sees the model’s eyes twinkle playfully at him when he notices where Castiel’s eyes had fallen.

He glares instead, giving him a once over, and immediately, he knows he is in the face of a troublesome player. Dean Winchester may not be a tycoon or whatever rich and famous, but Castiel no doubt this man still gets whatever it is that he likes all because he has that disgusting charm face that’s beginning to affect him. Lips thinning, he saw the opportunity to finally establish a rule.

“Then we leave it at that, are you happy now?” he grabs the coffee before it gets colder.

“Yep, that’s all. Nice to finally meet you.” Dean offers his hand.

He is really handsome up-close and right then Castiel’s gears worked at the best angles he can see this body get arranged. It’s simply outstanding how a male model can appear perfect—don’t get him wrong, most models aren’t only chosen for their physique, they are representations of real human bodies and it varies from the artist’s need.

Dean Winchester waits for him to take the hand and he had no choice. He shakes Dean’s hand, sizing up the firm grip of those callous hands as sturdy as any sculpted palms he’s ever done. He pulls his hand away, narrowing his eyes at the man whose giving him a relentless stare like he’s just found out something funny but too inappropriate to share. Castiel wants to chastise him, only to remind himself that his client needed the body so body it is he checked out— from top to bottom. Castiel stares hard below—beneath the hips and has noticed the model’s gait in those oddly shaped thighs and knees—

“What do I call you? Castiel?” he says it with another smirk that either boards to insult or teasing, Castiel isn’t sure. Clearly, this man is about to turn this studio upside down. He can’t let that.

“Call me Novak.”

“No, I want to call you Cas—that’s shorter—"

Castiel takes a step close, their nose almost punching for space. He sees the dotted irises expand, hears the tiny gasp of the model when he stares him dead in the eyes.

“Novak.”

Dean pouts. “Fine. Novak. I can also add Captain if you like.”

Castiel ignores him.

“Turn around so I can get your measurement.” He drawls.

It earns him a cheeky grin which is beginning to make his headache. Again, he ignores it as Dean begins removing his upper clothes and comes back without his top. Whatever Castiel thought was underneath all the layers back in the unveiling proved to be right— this man is all muscles, hard buns, tones, and jacks.

He praises his will as an artist to continue his measurement with professional eyes. Dean’s shoulders are broad with no soft muscle anywhere. The first brush of his finger on the skin has Dean turning in his direction with a sharp inhale that Castiel chose to ignore, the same way he is ignoring Dean’s perfect existence.

The man’s skin is soft and warm under his touch. He jots down each centimeter, frowning at the sprinkle of freckles all over the man’s body, especially at the back. He can feel that the model is tense under his touch, but he doesn’t do anything to ease the feeling. It’s not that he’s punishing Dean, but he himself finds it impossible not to get affected every time he lands his hands on a new area, especially around the waist where he needs to drop down to his knees to measure Dean’s legs.

Dean Winchester is the personification of true balance, except… he stares up at Dean to find the man already looking at him. When he sees Castiel looks up, he quickly looks away with a faint brush of pink on his cheeks.

“Part your legs,” Castiel tells him.

The easy way Dean followed his command made him curse again.

“Something wrong with the legs you don’t like?” Dean asks with a tone of smugness wrapped right there that Castel chose to ignore again.

“They’re not straight.” He comments rudely.

There’s a snort to which Castiel meets the man’s eyes. He sees the smile wane into a nervous swallow, so he tilts his head. The green-eyed male model managed to look endearing despite the artist’s initial stern reception.

“If you’re looking for straight, look another way.”

“I can see that,” Castiel says unhelpfully and he knows he should not have commented on it, but it’s hard not to give a comeback at such a cheeky guy who thinks everything in the world must be revolving around him.

“What’s that?” Dean asks staring down again but Castiel is already back on his feet and back to is working bench. He hears Dean curse after a moment and knew the man must’ve noticed the growing shape in front of his jeans. Castiel ignores him shuffling around until he’s decent again to face the sculptor.

“I need your close-up pictures on all angles.”

Dean Winchester visibly starts. “What—”

“Have you done a living model before?”

“I’ve done lots of modeling, but this is my first time for a full three-month- weekend contract—” he shrugs nonchalantly, “I mean, I know Rowena from way back when I was an underwear model from a year ago and I was surprised she wanted me for this and the pay’s good so I said sure—”

“I can understand why you would pass as an underwear model considering…” Castiel stops himself too late, he sees Dean’s face turn a shade of pink.

“Sheesh, uh… sorry, you had to see that uh…”

“You should worry about that once you’re on full frontal when we begin each part of the item.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be a problem, right? I mean, growing muscles are natural and you sculptors always want to have what’s natural, right?”

Castiel turns to him and crosses his arms. Dean stares back nervously. Arching an eyebrow that receives a sudden swallow from the model, Castiel gives him a piercing look.

“Have you seen the sketch model sent on your email?”

Dean blinks rapidly, made that distracting show of the tip of his tongue sweeping his bottom lips, and grins absently, “Uh… I saw the schedule?”

Castiel nods slowly, dominant eyebrow unrelenting. Quietly, he made his way to his folder on top of the next table beside the scale model. He doesn’t judge people who don’t read the full list in a contract or meager emails, but when it hits his project, surely, it’s judged away. He takes a page of the original pose to be made, turns to Dean who lingers behind him and hands him the sketch.

Dean takes it and glances at the photo, both eyebrows rising. Even from that view, the curves of his face are still fascinating to study and Castiel finds himself remembering the shapes, especially how Dean’s face splits into another easy smile.

“Naked as a newborn baby,” he presses his lips and meets Castiel’s eyes.

“You have to be exactly like that.”

“Yeah, I don’t shy away from people seeing me naked, Novak.” He returns the photo to Castiel, but he presses his back, pointing at it purposely.

“You don’t understand, _I mean exactly like that for the finishing touches.”_

Dean’s forehead creases in lines as he stares down to where Castiel is pointing. After a beat, his face dawns realization and he stares up at Castiel with round eyes.

“B-but—”

Castiel frowns. How difficult is it to keep a boner away? Dean stares at him helplessly which only gets Castiel tilting his head again— _really?_

“We want what’s natural, but when it comes to commission, there’s no such thing as not following what’s agreed upon. It’s butchery to the art piece if a single part is different, like planting a fig leaf where it’s not supposed to be even if it’s just a replica. You have to do something about it.”

“Yeah like that’s gonna be easy with you…” he breathes out but Castiel pretends not to hear. He still has plenty of things to do before the night ends and he wants to start without a hitch and worrying about his model’s inability to keep his erection out of the way which now that he thinks about it, was never a problem before.

He leaves the model to his thoughts when he goes back to his marble that still stands where he left it before all the interruptions that afternoon. Castiel silently thinks of the promised peace. Back in his own studio in St. Louis, he’ll be done dividing this into three pieces by now. That’s when Dean calls for his attention again.

“Well, I hope it’s not gonna be today?”

Castiel frowns. “No. Not even in a month. No, I’m still setting up the three pieces—one for the bust, the torso, and then waist below that need casting. Your measurement and references are the only things I lack before I can start the frontal scaling. That’s just stepping one. So, I really need those close-up photos for references.”

“Oh, I can get them to you tomorrow, and then we’ll begin?”

“That’ll be okay. But I guarantee a month’s wait to get the parts ready, and then you need to be here for the exact feature scales and details, just to get everything ready.” Castiel glances at Dean who seems to be thinking it over with an unusual concentration. He relents. “We’re working from top below.” They stare at each other again and he can see understanding in the model’s eyes. Like this was something understandable.

“Okay… and uh… don’t you need my number in case you want anything else?”

Castiel thought about it and agreed. They exchange information where he sees Dean casually typing his name with the shortened version of his name. He can’t complain about that, it’s hardly his business whatever Dean does with his personal equipment, and by that logic, the same with what he does in his private time. He tucks his phone back inside his protective tan coat and faces Dean.

“I won’t be needing it if you follow our schedule. I can work the shapes before you come around. It’s important that you show up when I need you for specific scaling once the models are ready. It’s going to be a very long work,” Castiel takes the goggles from the table, preparing to set up again, “So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you next month.” He touches the edges that will have to go, apologizes to the soon unused blocks, but notices Dean is still behind him.

He glances over his shoulder. Dean has already pulled his shirt back and is watching him uncertainly. Castiel lowers his hammer.

“Yes, Winchester?”

“Uh… just…sorry about you know…”

Castiel doesn’t blink. He specifically wants to ignore it and here is Dean trying to remind him of it.

“I wouldn’t say it’s not natural.” Castiel amends, not really finding any fault at it, “But you really should do something about it. I estimate a good three weeks before I’m done preparing the parts and then I’m going to need you to do your part so by then I hope all this confusion is gone.”

Dean turns red on the spot. “I got it alright? And it’s not like it’s my fault alone.”

Castiel slowly turns to face him grimly. “Excuse me?”

The way Dean’s face turns bright red, the way he backs out of the room and disappears in a hurry, leaves an impression that lingers by as Castiel whacks the big areas before the second stage of measurement. By sundown, he’s already reduced to being shirtless and breaking a sweat. The block has turned into a magnificent shape like a large piece of a body in a casing with still parts to remove. He stares at his huge block and sighs. “You’ll be beautiful like him. I’m so glad I can keep your mouth sealed with wax, at least.”

A flash of Dean Winchester’s lips doesn’t justify getting waxed though. Castiel’s eyes flash and he whacks the bigger boulders on the floor. That night as he measures and scales the three blocks apart, draws the outline will be the exact replica of Dean Winchester and starts roughing it up on the shape. When he gets on his imageboard for references of the original _Dying Gaul_ that night, he scales the measurement again and begins drawing for the scale of the head. He tries hard to see the semblance and feels his fingers thrum in excitement, at the same time trying _really_ hard for any reason that someone like Dean Winchester would march here all hard and bones.

That can’t be right. Castiel presses his lips thoughtfully.

Maybe they’re both in trouble.

Castiel works early the next morning. True to what Ms. MacLeod instructed, breakfast was served promptly by the efficient housekeeper whose shadow he wasn’t even able to see. After a quick stretch, he puts on his black shirt and pair of old, discolored ripped jeans, wears his tan coat and steel shoes then begins hauling the pieces he finished measuring last night onto the pedestal. He begins with the diamond rasps ready by his working station and the roughing part resumes. It took him another whole day before Dean drops by around sunset carrying the photo references of his bust. Castiel collects them, checks them one by one, then looks up at Dean.

“I need the nude ones too.”

“Yeah, can’t wait to really see me naked, huh?” Dean mutters, pulling his leathered backpack to grab a second brown envelope. Castiel squints at him and sighs when he sees the close-ups in angles he requested. He doesn’t ask how Dean got them.

“You almost done with the initiation part?” Dean asks, stretching his neck to look at the three different marble pieces set on different areas of the room with three different lightings and equipment to match the sculptor’s need, “Wow, you’re busting up those marbles, I see.”

Castiel tucks all the photos inside the envelope and turns to his drawing board at the far end of the room where he keeps all the sketches. When he walks back, Dean is already checking out the marble piece meant to be his torso.

“Can I touch it?” he asks when Castiel stops opposite him.

“It’s marble, not glass. It’s not going to break unless I hammer it.”

Dean grimaces and runs his hand on the texture. “Why do you use marble? I mean, there are other stones, you know, like granite? Marble might be all white and shiny but it’s not clear to work with. Dirt, dust you name it,”

Castiel gives him a surprised look so the man adds, rather self-consciously, “What? I read.”

“Marbles are well-preferred stones for carving, it’s easier to work with, at least for myself.

“Are we still on the planning stage?”

“Almost done trimming your chest, so yes we’re on schedule.”

Dean smiles. “Are you really going to chisel me out of marble? Aren’t there any more advanced ways? I read about those robotic sculptures—aren’t they way faster?” Castiel narrows his eyes. Does Dean spend his time reading and researching about sculpting when Castiel already knows about it?

“I’m a traditionalist,” Castiel says simply like it would explain everything.

“Awfully confident.” Dean grins.

“Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere else?” Castiel asks testily.

“Aw, c’mon, let me hang out. I have free time.”

“I don’t.” he turns away, grabbing his hammer and chisel.

“I’m not gonna bother you, I promise.” Dean pleads but Castiel doesn’t reply anymore.

He feels eyes follow him, but it easily gets forgotten once he’s pointed the chisel on the outline, he drew on the block using chalk and begins chipping away the pieces. He holds it to the block where he’s marked the outline for the pectorals, holding it to an angle and letting the chips fly up and sail everywhere around him.

Time flies as he gets rid of all the other outside stones of his projected figure until it begins to form. He leans down when he reaches the rib cages and carve them too, stopping only long enough to study the crack that appeared beneath the under the cages and choosing the other side to let the stone manipulate its own shape.

Once the shape fits his measurement, Castiel replaces his chisel with a handier claw-chisel. The surface is still pretty much rugged so like what he did with the bust, he levels the rough surface using the claw chisel, leaving behind a fine work of curves and grooves that gives the marble a good figure for the hunching torso. It’s still a work in progress but Castiel will be needing casts, plasters and then his model before he’s done. He leaves the piece on its table, setting on refining the legs when he looks around to the couch where he thought the model was still sitting only to find it empty.

He doesn’t notice Dean leaves. When he checks his phone later that day, there’s only one message from the model that Castiel finds a little curious.

_What kind of coffee do you drink?_

Castiel blinks. What is Winchester…? He breaks into a soft smile.

It turns into a scowl.

The first day, he told Dean about his house rules in and out, including his schedule. There next time they met, it’s the middle of the afternoon, after Castiel grabbed his power tools from the garage, he is shocked to find Dean sitting on the floor near the pedestal with a box of pizza near his legs, no wonder he lost his composure.

“Hey, Cas.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” there are boxes scattered on the floor beside the dust he just sawed. Dean’s smiling at him like he’s just done the world justice.

“Have I told you I’m a pizzaman?”

Castiel stares at him warily. “No.” he grunts.

“Well, I am. I have plenty of side jobs. Can you believe someone ordered five boxes of pizza and gave me an address that’s busted? There’s no house there, it’s an empty lot. It was a prank order and I had to pay for these.” Dean licks his lips, “I gave a box to the security people, they’re good men, twos for us, here—the other two—"

Castiel shakes his head, blinking at Dean’s nerve. Patience pop out of his system with clashing force in his head, both wanted Dean out of the studio.

“What did I tell you about going here without an appointment?”

“That I appear. I won’t bother, I promise.”

“No. These—get your garbage out of here now!”

“Come on, don’t you get bored here on your own? I’ll be quiet—"

“No, it’s too messy. We can’t do this here, bring this in the kitchen, that’s a large place. I gave you the rules, why didn’t you listen?”

Dean scoffs. “Rules are meant to be broken, come on, don’t be a baby with a stick in your ass. Try to live a little.”

He shuts his lips and walks to his workbench. He was wondering when he will see Dean again after their remarkable meeting day that ended with more words and fewer words than Castiel ever remembered having said to anyone in the span of five minutes after meeting them. And now Dean Winchester is back, whole and in the flesh and eating pizza inside his working station.

Castiel promised himself not to lash out at his new model again. But this… this is blasphemy.

“Hey, Captain Novak, don’t you want some? Or do you want commander? I think both suit you. Eat up.”

“I just ate lunch.” Castiel casts a murderous glare in his direction. “Dean, get that filthy thing out of my working station, now.” He says, face turning red. Dean Winchester ogles at him.

“Why? It’s pizza, who doesn’t like pizza?”

“Get them out!”

“Geez, what’s with you? A guy opens his heart to get sympathy and you’re acting like a dick—”

“Dean—”

“I get it, we work, but at least let me finish half a day’s work I paid for this, dammit.” Saying so, Dean takes the largest bite out of his pizza with its tops and crumbs falling on the floor.

Castiel stands there frozen, seeing the absolute disgrace in his working area. It doesn’t even bother him that Dean can eat in such a condition where dust can easily get in his food—but for the model to show a lack of respect for someone’s sanctuary—?

“We can’t work like this.” His voice doesn’t belong to him when he marches to his table and begins gathering all his tools. The model bolts to his feet in alarm.

“Novak…?”

“You obviously have no respect for my working station—so I’d rather quit early and tell Ms. MacLeod to go find another available artist than have to deal with this—"

“You’re quitting—? Hey—this isn’t what I—'m not disrespecting you or anything—”

“Then explain what that means if not disrespect?” his glare frightens the already struck handsome model who nods quickly and raises a hand, “Okay, is that—is that what you want? No food in this—fuck—okay I get just… just calm down…”

Castiel throws his bag back on the table, his lips curling.

“Stop intruding in my privacy.” He wants to chew Dean out. Nose still flaring, he watches as Dean backs out with open palms in the air as if to appease him.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” Dean says, taking the box from the floor, giving Castiel a wary expression, “I… I just thought we’d hang out. I wanted to know you…”

Castiel slams the toolbox close, not listening. There’s a long stretch of silence where Castiel can hear the loud beat of his heart and buzz in his ears. Next is the sound of boxes scratching the floor, followed by Dean’s footsteps heading to the door.

Castiel watches him walk away before he locks himself in the washroom where he cools himself with tap water running at the back of his head. He receives an email of apology after that and Castiel’s reply is short. Dean Winchester pesters him with apologies next that before long Castiel even wonders if the model is sincere.

Yet, he finds himself still infuriated. He wants to tell Dean coffee won’t make up for it as his day was already ruined.


	4. The Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone drops by and chanced a naked artist

To say he was in a bad temper when he woke up was an understatement. The right side of the bed couldn’t do anything when he got up with a headache. The wall clock revealed he got about three hours of sleep which was normal, but not with an itch to use his knuckles.

The studio was as he left it last night, scrubbed to the last dot after Dean made a mess. The room looked sad and gloomy. He stares into the space of the studio absently but when he sees his hammer and instantly wants to smash the statue which told him he was no fit to be in the studio that early. His head felt heavy as a lead and there’s this irritating ache buzzing behind his eyes.

He removed his shirt and tossed it on the bin, but passed the shower room. He might drown if he took it now, so scratching the back of his head and letting his hair stand in directions, he grumbled all the way to the empty kitchen. He didn’t need to open the refrigerator, he’s sure it’s refilled again. He already left a note to the caretaker to stop buying eggs and fresh stuff as he won’t have time for them. Instead, he goes straight to the coffee machine, stood there with time hanging until the pot chimed. It really didn’t help that the coffee wasn’t to his liking after Dean Winchester spoiled him with the delivery of morning brew.

Thinking of Dean made him throw the rest of the contents to the sink and wash his face. He remembered last night, knew it was going to happen sooner than later because Dean Winchester was made to defy—not just Castiel—but any ground rules set like a pigheaded-do-his thing-or-die trying idiot that he is.

It must really be his godly good looks that played the cards. He won’t deny Dean was very attractive. He had to take another look when he saw Dean at the art reveal party. So, he was a little smitten with his model, but it’s because when god showered the world with the finest parts where Dean must be in the front row, he also inhaled god’s abundance of smugness and guts.

To even eat in Castiel’s studio. He remembered Dean looking like he was having fun while half dress, eating with crumbs his lips smeared and enticing to be licked over— but when Dean caught him watching, he brashly ran his tongue in a swipe—making Castiel’s brain explode thus the headache.

He remembered his outburst. Convinced himself he wasn’t on the wrong. There was a reason he imposed rules. Dean apologized and did it very sincerely too. His skull wants to crack from the pain. He leans on the kitchen sink, cheek damp, droplets sliding down from his chin. Dean’s apology seemed sincere, but if he and Castiel continue butting heads, the artist won’t know until when he could control himself from either kicking Dean out or kissing the daylights out of him.

Wiping his chin with the back of his hand, water dripping to his neck down his collar, he made his way back to the gloom of the studio to find an intruder inside and no, it wasn’t Dean. But he was oddly familiar.

“Who are you?”

A stout man around the middle with thinning hair wearing a thick dark coat over his dark suit turns, revealing sharp dark eyes like a hawk and a shit-eating smirk like he’s someone important. Castiel raises his chin, his mind going in a flashback at the bar of the party. It’s obvious the man also recognizes him the way he bodily turns with a leer, both hands deep inside his pocket with his eyes roving over Castiel’s naked top, glinting.

“I assume you’re not the model despite the absence of a shirt? There’s a particular… _air_ about you I’ve seen to some artists, perhaps… _cockiness?_ ” his eyes dart down the front of Castiel’s pants.

Castiel gives him a withering look.

“You must be Crowley.”

The man smirks.

“Happy to know my name precedes me.”

“When the name matches the face. _Crowley._ ”

“Oh? You’re the type that attends Sunday school?” Crowley steps close, “should’ve known my mother would choose church boys.”

“I’m an artist, you ass.” Castiel crosses the studio feeling the eyes of the visitor following him. He grabs the towel by the table and hung it over his shoulder, turning to find the man standing two steps away and enjoying the view.

“What are you doing here? You are trespassing even if you are the son of my client, I occupy this place as my own, it’s in the contract.”

“I’m beginning to suspect you know more than you care to admit. That excited to get promoted, eh?”

Castiel considers, half frowning, “Despite Ketch’s revolting nature, he does the job of keeping unwanted people from reaching this point. Apart from Mrs. MacLeod, her husband shouldn’t know about this project. He has no reason to poke around his mansion still under construction. I wouldn’t suspect him to be you.”

“Oh, please. Don’t put me in the same category as that leprechaun,” Crowley rolls his eyes, “I came to see the gem my peacock of a mother has been mooning about in her facetime. She won’t stop babbling about some Apollo stuck with his art, a perfect blend of physical superiority yada yada. She’s a bit of an airhead when it comes to pretty things, my mother. Figured I have to see the apple of her next winter solstice orgy, if I am going to put my money into it. It’s all business.”

He steps close enough that Castiel smells his repulsive perfume.

“I am in understanding it was still my choice to agree. Mrs. MacLeod offered. It wasn’t set on stone.”

They eyed each other, Castiel with tipping dislike. Crowley wriggles his eyebrows and eased his way closer.

“Oh, I wish I’m not missing the pun from a sculptor? Will you really pass on an opportunity to be sponsored abroad? Let alone Rome? The land of the masters in craft? I hardly doubt it.” his breath stunk when Castiel leans down, almost nose to nose with his dark-haired visitor.

“I can say no if I want to. Right now, I am inclined to do so if my benefactors are as persistent and cunning as you.” Castiel says drily, “I don’t trust you.” He was never one to accept offers no matter how high the stakes. His choice will not be compromised.

“Good god, no,” Crowley croons, studying him. “But you seem right in the head, a rare encounter for my mother. I think we can make a deal. Capitoline is a snap of my finger away.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. It was a tempting offer, but it felt like making a deal with a demon. On the other hand, to be in Capitoline in Rome with full sponsorship. Too good to be true.

“Hey.”

Castiel’s heart skips a beat to hear the familiar deep voice. He turns abruptly to find Dean Winchester standing by the threshold holding two brown bags that Castiel could only guess as _food_. He doesn’t know how many times he had to berate the man into following his command when Dean took steps between him and Crowley, his back at the businessman, his features very handsome.

“Why are you naked?” he asks with serious eyes lifting up to meet his.

Castiel opens his mouth to retort. It was not any of Dean’s business to ask, he can strut in his studio naked if he wanted to, when the model shoved the brown bags on his arm. He is rendered even more speechless when Dean pulled his jacket from one arm and the other, eyeing him peevishly before wrapping Castiel in his jacket.

“It’s still foggy out, you haven’t even turned the heater here, you wanna get sick or something?” Dean says, pulling the jacket tight around Castiel’s neck and zipping it. When they looked at each other, Castiel glares while Dean beams.

“See? Warm enough?”

“Whatever you have in this bag, they’re hot,” Castiel says through gritted teeth. His loaded arms feel very hot, but it’s nothing to the sudden warmth currently spreading from the pit of his stomach and blooming in his chest. Dean sheepishly takes the bags back, giving Castiel a charming grin that didn’t help whatsoever to his already flushing face.

“Sorry.” Dean leans to him.

“Move.” Castiel steps back in daze.

“So this is Hyacinth, the great lover of Apollo. They weren’t kidding when they said your great beauty compares to none.”

Way distracted, Castiel almost forgot Crowley who stands small behind Dean. The model turned with intimidating eyes to the visitor who didn’t bat an eyelid at the unfriendly reception.

“This place is off-limits,” Dean growls turning full-bodied at Crowley, “You should leave.”

“Are you talking about the place or the person per se?”

Castiel couldn’t see Dean’s face, but from the way the smug smile disappears from Crowley’s face, he could tell it must’ve been daunting.

“Dean,”

Dean turns back to him with big round green eyes. Castiel has no idea how Dean gets angry, but he doesn’t want him hurt. Not that Crowley looked like he could fend for himself, but there was no reason for Dean to be so… protective. Castiel touches Dean’s elbow.

“He was just checking the statue.”

Dean lets himself be pulled back. Crowley straightened a little, snake-like eyebrow moving.

“Well, lovely. I think I’ve seen enough. Too much in fact. But you two make a pair.”

He disappeared, leaving Castiel and Dean staring at the door, and then the model turns to him with his nose still flaring. “Who the hell was that?”

“The son of our client.”

“Rowena’s? What’s he got to do with you?”

“Probably to see if I’ll be joining his mother’s winter solstice orgy.”

_“What?”_

“Is this coffee?” Castiel sniffs the bag Dean is holding, drawing closer like a cat because that’s how familiar he is to his favorite brew. He sighs because Dean just became a life savior.

“Yeah, I told you I’d bring you coffee.” Dean carried the bags to the kitchen where Castiel followed, glad that he didn’t have to tell Dan twice about the studio being off-limits. He takes the seat opposite Dean who began to unload the brown bag with coffee, two burgers, pancakes and fries.

“I’d like to see him come here while I’m naked, I’ll make him drool to the ground.”

“I’m sure you will, but he won’t see you like that.” Castiel scowls.

They stare at each other fixedly, Castiel memorizing the pattern of freckles on Dean’s face he only got to see at closeup now. Dean was always too far when modeling. Dean hands him a burger Castiel unwraps and chomps on without delay. Dean watches him in amusement.

“You’re in good mood.”

“So are you.”

"And you've been really saying my name real nice."

Castiel tilts his head. "I don't know what you mean." He looks away at once, retrospecting the fact how they are really becoming friendly. 

Dean doesn't elaborate but he did add, "Calling me Winchester honestly scares the crap out of me."

"Winchester..." Castiel glares, all points missed when Dean leans curiously at him. 

“Tell me, do you usually attract trouble even when you’re already indoors?” Dean asks while he sits down and peels the wrapper off his burger. Castiel munches on his burger and shrugs.

“I thought you won’t come by today.”

“Why? You call yesterday a fight? You should see me and my dad have a row about my brother. You should see _me and my brother_ arguing. Yesterday was a catfight. A cute cat-fight.”

“Isn’t this too much?” he gestures at the contents of the table when Dean hands him his hot coffee next.

“Isn’t this breakfast?” Dean picks up a fried stick and throws it in his mouth which Castiel observed is too lush and pink it made his drips dry. The way it smears his lips, shiny and sinful, make him want to reach out and wipe them. He blinks when he sees Dean watching him too.

“That’s grease.” Castiel he points out, deadpan, “You should really watch what you eat.”

Dean huffs. “Shut up, you’re not my brother.”

“As it happens, your body will have an impact on my job so you’re wrong—I own your body."

Dean chokes on his fries with eyes bulging out, making a hacking sound that has Castiel frown as he sips his coffee. “It’s in the contract,” he adds when Dean stares at him with errant lips open and seductive. It’s a good thing the coffee’s hot, the moment it touched his lips its heat-clearing his head and stomach.

He gets a reading of Dean’s open expression, bright pink and flushed with oil smearing his lips. The thing about Dean is he doesn’t even try to be perfect. He is. Probably even with beggar’s clothes. He just shines through. It takes Castiel a whole minute before Dean finally decided to press his lips to close, but as he did so, he continued with biting his bottom lip, top teeth nestling at its cushioned redness. Who could look away from that?

“You like my body?” Dean’s boyish grin caught Castiel off guard he had to pull his eyes back to stop ogling.

“As an artist,” Castiel clears his throat, heat growing in his cheeks “I appreciate beauty for what it is and would rather if it’s not spoiled by an unhealthy diet.”

“Yeah, but you like me, right? I’m not the asshole you thought I was when we first met?”

“You’re better than Crowley if that’s what you mean. He’s the kind that gives the ‘first impression lasts when I met him at the art party.”

“He was also there? Is he following you around?”

Castiel tilts his head. “You have plenty of questions, some too subjective to answer. I have a question too.”

“No one’s stopping you,” Dean mumbles, “What’s there to ask?”

“What’s the name of your brother? I assume he’s younger than you are?”

“Sammy? Yeah, four years older, and only family. He’s very smart, he’s a walking talking Sammyclopedia. I’d tell him to have his own set but he’s busy with school. He’s currently studying at University with his girlfriend so there’s no one else to ask about my favorite food. You just gotta ask me yourself.”

“Your favorite food is pie and pizza. You’re like a pizza guy.”

“That’s my second job when I’m free from modeling,” Dean shrugs, fingers grabbing and tossing fries in his mouth. He has no trouble talking and speaking at the same time which should be a concern. “Modelling doesn’t cover all bills, see?”

“Why do you have so many jobs?”

“Why are you asking about Sammy? No— no, don’t be sorry,” Dean hastily adds when Castiel apologized if he’s overstepping any line but it was a good small talk if he and Dean are to have a collaborative relationship where they don’t spend half the day arguing or the statue would not be finished on time. “I mean you don’t have to force yourself to know about me, you know.”

“I’m not forcing it,” Castiel says, “It’s just an observation. Your mood changes aptly when you say his name, that’s all.” And sure enough, there it is, Dean’s fond eyes when he stares up, eyes shade of the forest green soft and gentle settling in. He’s never seen Dean so relaxed and Castiel thought if he’d ever met Sam before the statue is done.

“What is a gaul anyway?” Dean asks as he emerges from the corner of the studio once the two of them had returned to work, “Why’s everyone gungho about it?”

“You’re not a fan of Spartacus, are you?” Castiel wriggles his wrist and tilts his head to see the side. He’s now back to his old work clothes with Dean’s jacket hanging on a rack by the door. Funny enough, Castiel can’t get rid of the smell of Dean’s perfume despite the removal of the jacket.

“Some gladiator, right? That famous rebel one?”

“Yes. You sound uncertain. Are you not fond of movies?” Castiel stops what he’s doing to watch Dean.

“Are you kidding? I live for movies! I’ve seen the 1850s Midwest movies and nineteenth-century American Midwest, which hehe, have some quality content, I’m telling you. Gladiators are too bloody; I don’t do that kind of gore blood. Just hand me a gun and giddyup horses to roll with.”

Castiel shakes his head. Cowboys, Dean meant cowboys. No wonder he’s grown and raised a little rough on the edges. He wants to tell Dean cowboys were full of misconceptions far from their movie adaptations, but who was he to inject his opinion on someone’s happiness?

He carefully chisels the collar bone. He will not tell Dean most cowboys don’t carry guns nor they usually ride horses…no.

“You’re saying something?”

“I said you should go to your position and let me do my job. Then we can continue with your…cowboy stories. That should still count as something for oral history.”

“I do plenty of oral and leave it to history,” Dean’s cheek bulges with the way he smugly pressed his lips to smile. Castiel arches a dominant eyebrow at the model so penetrating, Dean nods.

“Fine, educate me again? Who’s the Gaul?”

Castiel wonder at the tone, if Dean is messing with him or just keeping the conversation going.

“It’s not a person. It’s what they call the people who inhabited an old region in Western Europe before the Romans came. They were Celtics, also Gaulish people who fought for their freedom…until they are set up in the amphitheater.”

“So this guy’s a gladiator?” Dean blinks at the marble.

“Yes. They were quite fighters, believed to be ferocious. But this one here is one of the prime Gaul fighters on the verge of his death. Before its death, it was called the Undefeated Gaul. Fighting in the arena as the beast but here in this moment he’s…” he closes his lips, his vision encompassing what’s right before his eyes like he was there when the Gaul was robbed of its last breath.

“It depicts so much humanity.” Castiel finishes, “A man moments before his death… immortalized.”

Dean sucks his cheek thoughtfully. Castiel casts him a narrowed look before nodding at the platform where Dean is supposed to sit for the modeling.

“Hmmm.” Dean’s face breaks from concentration and he shrugs, “I still don’t get why it gotta be turned to Rowena’s husband. Does she wanna kill him or what?”

Castiel doesn’t answer.

“Also,” Dean says like it’s an afterthought, “Are you really this hot when you talk with your head?”

Castiel doesn’t grace him an answer.

Dean’s visits are done only during intervals and in the second week, Castiel told him the parts are almost done for the figure detail touches where the live model comes in. The coffee he brings from the local shop some blocks away is wonderful, but Castiel can leave without them, but on the course of the model’s presence, Castiel has learned that Dean works in a small modeling agency in the morning and auto mechanic shop in the afternoon that’s why his schedule is only available for the weekends. Not to mention his pizza deliveries.

Castiel doesn’t want to get too involved with the model’s personal life. Last week's display was also a surprise, but he was caught grateful with Dean for the coffee rescue. He still refuses to reply to the man’s chain messages and evening customary greeting, but when the man starts sending him cat videos, that’s when he steps a foot down.

“Stop sending them, it’s distracting,” he says coldly one morning after the model delivers him his coffee. He doesn’t know what gives Dean the right to be a delivery boy, he certainly doesn’t pay him to be one but as always, he accepts. 

“Why? You like them don’t you?” Dean argues while they drink coffee, Castiel sitting on his drawing table while Dean stands on the side watching him. “No harm is done sending friendly cat videos, you never reply anyway.” There’s a petulant remark in there that Castiel’s ears can’t help catching.

“I did not ask for any messages.” He says curtly and now that he has Dean’s full attention, he might as well get through with it, “We did not discuss this in detail, but there are a few things you have to remember while you’re working for me—”

Dean’s eyebrow raises, “Again? You mean work _with you?”_

 _“For me.”_ Castiel repeats with gritted teeth, he doesn’t like the way Dean’s expression crunches up, the way his mouth opens like he wants to contest—and he’s not supposed to do that. Models are only supposed to obey the control of the artist like a puppet, be gorgeous and such—but not send him cat videos or become so attractive it’s giving him a headache— Castiel puts that into words, “There are certain rules I want people working for me to do and they are absolute or it will affect everything I’m doing in this sacred place—eating you already know the consequences.”

“You mean like sending you cat videos?”

Castiel comes up short of Dean’s face, their eyes linked and attention undivided. He can see Dean’s eyes widen, see the muscles of his jaw lock as he comes near, and that’s all Castiel is asking for really, that Dean is put in his right place.

“That included. And I would also be grateful if you’re punctual first and foremost. I hate those who waste my time the most. Not for any reason, no excuses—you get your ass in here on time.”

Dean’s eyes are the greenest Castiel has ever seen, “Second, you follow my every order to the last letter, all the instructions and positions without any qualms—I don’t want to hear any complaints without the action—if you have any problem with what I asked you to do, voice it once I’m done with you. Then I’ll probably listen,”

The flickering of Dean’s eyes doesn’t come unnoticed, nor does the hard swallow that jolts his entire upper body, rippling through his skin Castiel can almost feel him with their proximity. “Last on your list—you’re not allowed to touch anything that belongs to me—and I mean everything in this room, do you understand?” he spells it with some finality, ending it with a glare.

“Fine, I guess… whatever floats your boat,” Dean mutters looking as if in daze.

Castiel steps back to have a good look at him before dropping back down his chair when he can’t remember even getting on his feet. To his surprise, Dean doesn’t even fall back from where he stands, he just silently watched Castiel, thinking deep. Castiel can tell by the way Dean licks his bottom lip. That or he wants to say the piece himself. If what he says next has anything to do with the rules, he just mentioned, Castiel doesn’t know how not to get ballistic.

He thought it was all over but while he was putting his back on chiseling away an extra piece on the slab comes Dean latching on the other side of the stone with the widest smile and twinkling eyes.

“I can still bring you coffee every morning.”

“Yes.”

“Really? I'm just a coffee machine to you, am I?" 

Castiel eyes him sourly. He never understands why Dean has decided to make this place his hang out area. He hasn’t exactly stopped him from coming—and it’s not in his given rules.

Dean looks so sincere, the soft look in his eyes enough to have Castiel’s initial flare ebb away, replaced by fluttery butterflies in his stomach. He nods.

“But why? If you’re planning to buy yourself out every time you will be late, that’s unprofessional and I won’t condone it.”

“That’s not it, I just- you look like someone who wants his coffee rightly made.”

“I can make my own coffee fine, thank you.” he lies. 

“Yeah, but I’m offering, you like it, why not you the others?”

“What is the motivation behind this?” Castiel narrows his eyes. It bugs him that Dean can be so earnest, yet he can’t trust people easily. Why would someone he’s been snapping on from day one even think of buying him coffee? Okay. The coffee is great. Especially for someone who doesn't go out often. 

Dean shrugs, unoffended by the obvious accusation.

“I like it. I mean, I have free time in the morning. And I’m very curious about what you do. I have an artist friend, see—she’s an awesome painter—”

Castiel listens to Dean as he draws his draft of the head sculpture, Dean tells him about this Charlie Bradbury in college.

“Do you like her?”

“What? Of course, I like her—she’s like my sister after Sam. You know Sam studying right now in University. He’s gonna become a great lawyer—”

“And what are you supposed to be great at?” Castiel says before he could stop himself and realizes too late what an ass it was to say. He glances up to see if Dean’s offended, but like it’s been a common topic thrown at his face, Dean just shrugs again with an expression turning quite comical—the last Castiel expected.

“Well, I’m not as good in the head as my brother, but I’m good at stripping? When are you gonna ask me to strip?”

“Not today.” Castiel replies, dumbfounded at the sudden topic, “And if anything, we start with your facial expressions. It’s true Ms. MacLeod wants the face of her husband, but I still need the proportion of your head for the body. Size like the ears and nose before I set it—”

“Why not size them now? I mean, I’m free am I not? You’ve been drafting the face anyway.” Dean nods at the design Castiel is currently working on. He seems to be genuinely interested to do the part as Castiel looks up at Dean wanting to point out his schedule—but it only took one glance at the man’s face to get him to agree. Something about Dean’s excitement— the way his eyes light up and Castiel wants to tell him he’s more than just a stripper for a pose—he doesn’t know why that came to his mind just now. All he knows is that as he stood up and asked Dean to sit on the tall stool while he got the clippers and measuring tool, that Dean seemed eager to prove himself worthy.

But why?

Dean is beautiful.

Castiel lifts his eyes feeling his ears burn when he finally gets a closer inspection of the man’s perfectly chiseled face—the pepper-sprayed freckles everywhere on his face that adds only to his distinctive features from the perfect nose, lips, and eyes—those eyes—

Castiel can already feel his hands already working on the statue’s specific details. He needs to finish forming the statues soon so it’s ready for Dean.

“You like?”

Castiel gives him a withering look, “Don’t move.”

Those fucking mouth should really be shut. Even if Castiel chose to ignore it, it’s hardly an option when he’s scaling the distance of the upper lip to the nose. Dean stops breathing at those moments and Castiel stays awkwardly close to his unmoving object, not expecting his model to be very obedient. His eyes made a mistake of falling on Dean’s well-shaped lips, the corners, the natural line, his cupid’s bow that makes it perfectly appealing—

Castiel finds himself staring up and meeting Dean’s eyes. He feels his heart flutter, heat rising from his chest. Dean is staring at him intently too.

Somebody clears his throat by the open door followed by a knock. Castiel slowly drags his eyes from his model and catches sight of none other than Arthur Ketch. The Head of security is watching them with a glint behind his eyes as Castiel slowly straightens and gives him a deadpan.

“What?”

“Am I disturbing anything?” he asks slyly.

Castiel puts the string on the table and walks over to the brawny British man.

“What?” he doesn’t give Ketch the privilege of smiling.

“You forgot to get your mail for the entire week… although, given that, I wouldn’t blame you if you are preoccupied with a different set of _males_.” There goes the smirk. Castiel snatches the mail from his hand and flips the envelopes one by one.

“Is that all?” he glances up, seeing Ketch staring at Dean.

“Of course, unless you want me to stay for a chat.”

“Leave.”

Castiel dumps the mails to the side table near the red couch before returning to scaling Dean’s face. It took about an hour and a half before he’s done the entire 380 degrees, feeling quite satisfied as his mind works on the inches, he’s to use on his scale model.

Dean’s already on his feet by the time Castiel has finished jotting down the numbers. He sees a shadow by his shoulder and turning—finds the model still there. He thought Dean would disappear like those other times

“Uh, so that guy… you guys are friends?

Castiel glances up, distracted. “What?”

“That guy… looks like MIB?”

“I don’t know him.” Castiel scowls, turning away to put the drafts down the table. “And if you want to learn his contact information, I only have it for business, not personal. If you are interested in him, go ask him of it yourself.”

Dean’s face screws. “He’s not my type. I’m more after… dark hair, killer blue eyes, strong too, you can ride…”

“I suggest you find yourself a horse.”

Dean laughs.

“Not it either, but why are you guys talking in hush voices…? I mean, that’s how I found you guys too, you know when I came around…?”

“We were not doing anything.” Castiel taps his finger on his draft, ignoring Dean’s sulking expression. “Thanks for this, it makes the head angles easier to manipulate. I’ll be finishing the form for the legs today and next week we can begin with your bust detailing. Your pictures have given it the angle but having a real 3D figure in physical form gives the exact proportions.”

“Sure. You’ll be finishing all these in just one week now?”

“It’s a month next week,” Castiel says quietly. Dean whistles.

“Been here that long and I haven’t gotten stripped yet? What are you, a saint?”

That pulled an unexpected smile from the artist.

Something crashed on the floor and Castiel jumped. Dean’s feet which had been on the top of a toolbox under the table slipped down, knocking his leg on the rough edge. Dean’s face screws in pain.

“Are you okay?”

“Yep,” Dean inhales, eyes pained but he’s still looking at the artist who kicks the toolbox deeper under the table. “You uh… should smile often.”

Castiel hums.

“I’ve been told my smile can offend even the saints.”

“Who told you that?”

“My brother.”

Dean looks thoughtful, “Well, for whatever reason he said that he might be looking out for you. I mean… smile often and it’ll bring more bees in the yard.”

Castiel studies Dean quietly.

“Bees can't be distinctive of human smiles. How can they-”

“You’re prettier when you smile,” Dean says. Castiel scowls.

He loses track of time, but he’s never lost track of Dean’s eyes following his every movement. He roughs out the tiny blocks unneeded on the tiny gaps that he had measured last night. He sweeps the excess stone as small chips or dust and leans closer with goggles on, with Dean breathing next to him the only pendulum he could hear.

“You really work hard, don’t you?” Dean’s tone is hush, almost a wonder to hear. Castiel stares at him and then resumes their long eyes staring contest—until the model himself finally steps away, but not after Castiel notices the blush creeping on his fair face. Beautiful freckles light up, Castiel could almost count them.

“Dean,” he clears his throat, “You better go home now.”

“Am I disturbing you?”

“In a relative term, yes.” Castiel doesn’t look at him but he hears Dean’s shuffling movements after a while.

“See you next week, Cas.”

Castiel doesn’t stop him with that either.


	5. The Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel worries for his model...

Everything is set the next week for Dean. Castiel has cleared the entire room from dust, has made sure the pedestal he’s done two weeks ago is smooth and would not harm Dean in any way, then arranges the lighting source and wirings before that afternoon.

Except Dean doesn’t arrive after lunch. He doesn’t arrive until two hours later where Castiel is almost done forming the neck using a flat chisel.

“Wow, you really did this room a number.” the familiar voice of Dean Winchester booms, just as Castiel at the back of the figure as part of the final cleaning. He slowly catches Dean’s eyes staring at him with a face red and sweaty. He doesn’t know what adventure Dean has gone through and he doesn’t want to waste time asking.

Castiel grits his teeth. “And get on the pedestal,”

Dean falls silent immediately and discards his bag on the couch. He walks to the center of the studio where the pedestal stands then look up at Castiel like he wants to say something.

“Get your shirt off,” Castiel says with a tight hold on his hammer. Dean’s lips purses and then he removes his shirt. Well, if he’s going to have an attitude— Castiel’s eyes widen and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s out of his stool, hammer falling on his hand as he strides towards Dean when he sees the model’s swollen left arm. There are also a few cuts and gashes on his arm that alarmed the artist.

“What happened?” he utters, gutted.

The bruising looked fresh, it painted down Dean’s tanned skin like an ugly red mark and it looked awfully painful. Castiel grimaces like he can feel the sting. He’s not unfamiliar with pain—working for hours with nothing but stone, you get all kinds of injury—but for a model—that’s not supposed to happen.

“Dean—”

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Dean says again, beautiful long lashes flicking down at him and Castiel realizes how close they are— doesn’t matter as Castiel is dragging him to the couch where he forces him to sit down. Instinct proved to be on the alert as Castiel finds himself returning to Dean’s side carrying the first aid kit from the bathroom. He takes the antiseptic and cotton before attentively wiping the wound clean. His heart is hammering hard on his chest as his mind gears to understand where the model could have gotten the scrape—a sort of accident on the way? Dean falling off the stairs. Hit by a car? What?

“Dean,” he grits his teeth, shaking the horrible flashes away, “What happened?”

Dean avoids his eyes.

“It’s nothing, just got into a bike accident,”

“Bike?” Castiel stares at him in alarm.

“Just a scrape when I fell off the bike. Some dumb drunk hurtled past me while I was crossing the street, but it’s nothing, really.”

“Nothing?” Castiel says it like a swear. He can feel his stomach-wrenching at the thought of Dean on his bike—he doesn’t even know Dean’s got there by bike— he doesn’t know where his route is—doesn’t know which road. How dangerous can the road be? “Why didn’t you bring yourself to the hospital?” he demanded.

“I’m already late as it is—”

“What are mobiles for?”

“It…” Dean chews on his bottom lips and even then, he doesn’t look less attractive, “it got crushed on the way.”

Castiel stares at him with feverish anger heating his face. But this is over and done with and Dean is safe here in his studio and that’s when Castiel inhales and quietly begins tending to Dean’s bruised arm.

The blood clotting is painful to look at and he wished there’s some way to just make it disappear. Why Dean isn’t speaking of the pain beats him, but it gives him a new side of Dean who can be the loudest of all people when he thinks he’s being smart or funny—but shuts up about his agonies. Gets terribly quiet about the most important things…

“There’s ice in the kitchen fridge, I’ll get it,” he adds with furrowing brows when Dean begins to rise from the couch, “You… get the ice bag in the bathroom.”

Dean salutes smugly, maybe even thinking he is funny. Castiel scowls. Oh, the two weeks he promised himself to get that bust done. Thrown off the window because this will certainly take time. Dean doesn’t look like he's in shape to be posting like any Gaul, dying or in pain for that matter. He crossed the corridor quietly, but he did not go directly to the kitchen at first. He crosses the back door where he usually sees Dean come from in the morning, walks to the yard where he can see a bicycle discarded on the ground in a hurry.

Castiel takes one look at the bike before he’s swearing. The bike doesn’t have a single scratch. Dean lied to him. So where did those injuries come from? And why must the man lie to him? Giving the bike a dark look, Castiel looks back at the building with a deep frown and a sigh. It’s none of his business if it’s personal, but he doesn’t really appreciate being lied to.

Shaking his head, he gets back in his studio to find Dean already back on the couch and staring blankly into space. He leans on his right arm, his good side to support his body, inclining it a little to the right into a familiar pose. Castiel realizes Dean is recreating the bust pose. It looks awkward and incredibly off balance. Castiel steps into the room, gaining attention and Dean sits straight.

“We can start now if you want,” he says eagerly, almost ready to jump at anything. Castiel decided not to mention the bike. He snatches the ice bag from the couch, slides the ice pack in it, and hands it to Dean who immediately smacks in at the joint of his left shoulder and neck.

“Contrary to what you think, you’re not a rock, Dean. Stop acting like you’re a statue.” Castiel snaps, “Where else are you hurt?” he demands next.

Dean only blinks at him and shakes his head, worldless.

Castiel frowns at him with eyes scanning other places he can see, cursing at the thought of the clothes hiding Dean’s other injuries the model may have been ignoring.

Where else is Dean pained? What really happened?

“Let’s call it a day.” He says quietly. Dean’s green eyes find him. He too is frowning.

“We’re not canceling this just because I’m a little busted. I can do it.” He says firmly and Castiel just must hate him to have that professionalism he’s been looking for the model. But not like this.

“Not with that shoulder, you can’t.”

“Cas, you’re not gonna make me go home—I’m not a kid—am a friggin adult that gets boners and all.” Dean rolls his eyes, “Let’s just get this over with, okay? Aren’t we on schedule? That piece of the bust is not gonna sit there the whole day—"

“You either get your ass out of this studio or I swear, Winchester, you’re going home with more than a bruised arm,” Castiel retorts as he walks away to his workbench, “I refuse to work with a busted model who doesn’t have the common sense to take care of their body.”

Silence greeted his words. Castiel hears the shuffling of feet and then Dean’s voice behind him crisp and annoyed.

“Fine, but we’re starting early on Sunday! Make sure you don’t have a date!” Dean growls.

Castiel inclines his head as he leans back to the table.

“I don’t date.” He deadpans.

Dean blinks several times like the piece of information is new to him. “For real?”

Castiel glares and threatens to hack Dean’s head with his hammer. Dean gets the idea and nods, but not after pointing a finger at the artist--

“Then we have a date tomorrow, mark your day!” he storms off, before dropping the ice pack on the couch when Castiel catches sight of his flaming cheeks.

The artist waits for Dean’s heavy footsteps to disappear into the corridor before taking that long heavy sigh. How a model can make him so worked up, he can’t understand. But if Dean’s going to lie to him through his teeth to prove something and throw away his own health, then Castiel will not tolerate him even if the man comes crawling back here—

He leans back to the table, crosses his arms, and stays silent for a moment, then he’s digging deep in his work trench coat and takes his phone. He easily finds Dean’s number as there is hardly anyone in his contact save few gallery curators, fellow visual artists he rarely calls, his brother’s number, and then Dean’s. He ponders on it for a while, the tip of the tongue on his right cheek, then presses the call button.

Someone answers and it’s not Dean. The voice is heavy, slurring, and drunk.

Castiel hangs up.

The next morning, Dean’s there at the frame of the doorway in a black shirt and tight jeans. Castiel only sees him from the corner of his eyes as he carries a block weighing like a ton across the room from the stocks of marble on the other side.

“You need help?”

“I need coffee,” Castiel exhales as he drops the marble arms on the next empty table. A month has passed since he made this place his home and by now it’s looking pretty much like his own studio with casts and replica models on tables, marble pieces on tables. Dust flies in the air.

“You really work early,” Dean comments as he enters carrying his usual delivery, “and I can see where the muscles come from.” He adds as an afterthought, eyeing Castiel bent on the floor with sleeves of his shirt folded to the tips, shining with sweat. Castiel straightens and catches Dean checking out his ass. Shaking his head, he faces Dean as he wipes his sweaty forearm on his face, forehead wrapped in a bandana. The model handed him his coffee share and they stood face to face, staring at each other quietly. Dean looks fresh, just comes out of the shower with cheeks much so Castiel’s eyes fall on Dean’s right shoulder.

“How’s the arm?”

Dean shrugs and hands him his coffee. “Still attached. Good thing I went straight home yesterday, or I would have lost the damn thing on this very picky artist who’s a pain in my ass. How’s the carving?”

“Would have been done with it if my model didn’t trip in his shoes and knocked himself out, he’s a pain in my ass too.”

Dean grins. “I’m ready when you are.”

“If you get your ass on the stool, I’d be very nice today.” Castiel rounds to his working bench where he leaves his coffee in exchange for claw chisel and hammer.

“I don’t mind you roughing me up. Is this how I should look?” Dean begins tearing his shirt apart, something Castiel did not expect to enjoy watching on the sideline as he stands there watching him animatedly. He still doesn’t like the patch of bandage wrapped on his model’s arm, so he turns when he catches himself about to turn livid again. Whatever Dean’s dealing with, he’s keeping right to himself, just like a professional. It’s about time Castiel acts the same.

“Hey, master, should I like on the floor now? I’ve studied the pose last night, figured I don’t want you getting tired of me so early in the game—"

Castiel ignores him while suppressing a smile. He turns across the room towards his marble without looking, already aware of how well built the man is with his square perfect features and tone backside. But then just like that he sees Dean is lying there on the floor bare to the toes with only his thighs covering his private while leaning hard on his right arm like it wasn’t injured previously—

“ _Fuck—”_ Castiel hisses with a tight grip on his tools. Dean glances over at him questioningly, then smiles when Castiel meets his eyes.

“Fancy a look again?” he grins with that boyish grin like he knows what he’s doing. The guy knows what his body looks like—certainly knows its effect on those close in the vicinity. A fact Castiel resents but ultimately, he is thankful Dean is this way. The perfect combo of beauty, sass, sexy, and just… charm.

He’d die before he tells him that when he scowls.

“You’re not supposed to strip down to your waist, we’re only working the bust.”

“Yeah, but nothing’s better than getting in character, right?” he winks smugly and hunches his shoulders, exactly as the posing suggests. Veins run down his arm, showing roots around his neckline too and Castiel will be damned if he doesn't think Dean Winchester is the hottest piece of artwork in the whole world that deserves all his attention.

Giving Dean a glare that earns another smirk, he watches the model drop his head as it did on the original artwork. Castiel steps closer to his block wears his goggles and begins chipping away in earnest. Holding close to the head, he strikes the block keeping an eye on the target before glancing back at Dean.

“Did you even apply ointment to your wounds?” he asks.

“Lord, Cas, if you’re going to be like this, just come to my house and marry me, you’re worse than any one’s boyfriend. Not that I don’t mind having you, really.”

“I’m not a boyfriend material,”

“Says who?” Dean growls, “Cas, whoever you hang around with, better change your friends now if they only put you down.”

“I don’t have friends!”

Dean considers, “Want to make me one? I’ll never offend you, I promise.”

‘“I want a model, not a friend.”

“Then boyfriend.”

“Winchester.” Castiel wants to hit him with a hammer and it gets worse because Dean laughs, that way Castiel can’t tell if he’s serious or playing with him.

After the session where Castiel had to scowl over Dean’s tempting licking of lips, he refrains to be distracted because he is a professional, the day ended with Castiel’s amount of control peeking. Dean Winchester can be a professional model when he means to and just that day he was really, but he supposes accumulated experience has opened Dean to different kinds of artists and their different quirks. At least he did not have to explain himself whenever he falls into a trance, keep staring at his model frozen in time, nor did he have to feel embarrassed pointing out all of Dean’s good sides, angles and definitely know how to his juts and joints

Castiel is a professional in his own right. Two hours he stops and tells Dean to rest while he went to the washroom to clean his tools. He throws Dean his work trench coat when he sees the model lounging about the couch with his clothes bundled up his lap. A few minutes break where Dean walks around in his coat while Castiel fixes a few hard lines on the shape of biceps, aptly smoothing the right side so Dean doesn’t feel guilty if he takes time making the rough corner.

“It doesn’t have to be quite as straining as you think,” Castiel says, trying not to be distracted by his model standing too close to his right shoulder. _His model._ “It is common we make the busts and torsos separately for human-size figures, before the head—which I won’t have a model from only all those photos.” He glances over his drafting table where all the photos and references are plastered, one of them ahead photo of Mr. MacLeod’s on all sides.

“So, you mean you just use my body and then just stuck on ahead?” Dean rounds opposite Castiel behind the block just to see his face. The trench coat clings to his body too tight, shapes of his muscles

“Precisely.” Castiel meets the green-eyed model square in the eyes. “I wouldn’t need you most of the time.”

“Ouch, you break my heart.”. And here I thought we’re making a connection.” Dean nods, licking his damned lips again. It was a hobby Castiel will surely agonize over.

“Get back in your position.” He growls.

Dean rolls his eyes as he straightens then he turns. Castiel stares with tongue-tied as this beautiful creature saunters back to his position shedding the coat sliding off his shoulder. He sees Dean in the flesh again, his ass carved by the gods, too damn mouthwatering, he can’t believe something like that is not carved out of stone.

Castiel blinks and stares down his lap. He doesn’t like what’s going on down there but at the same time, he can’t help it. Dean’s is distractingly beautiful—too beautiful and his personality is matching up to him, warming something inside Castiel he’s never felt about a living human before. Excitement? Thrill?

“You good?” Dean asks from where he perches himself on the flat pedestal. Castiel tries to give him an impersonal, clinical look, meanwhile, his heart is stuck in his throat.

“I know I said I’m used to seeing bare assed, but would you mind not doing that? Walking around naked? I didn’t allow any security footage in here for the sake of privacy, but you know Ketch can still come in here and the last thing I need is him pestering you whenever you’re around.”

“That British guy who looks at you like you’re meat?” Dean frowns at him and stays rigid, “Why, does he pester you around? Come to think of it, you’re the only people I see around this house—does he bother you when you’re alone?”

“Not more than necessary,” Castiel tilts his head to his side, “Your pose is all wrong. What’s wrong?”

Dean stares back at him like he’s been struck with something unpleasant.

“Does he go in here at night?”

Castiel lowers his chisel and sighs. “He doesn’t. I already gave him a warning on my first week—”

“That son of a bitch, did he try to make a pass at you?”

“Dean, that’s hardly any of your concern—”

Dean’s eyes rounded as he ogles at the artist. Even Castiel pauses and blinks. “What?”

“Nothing, you just called me by my name like…” he looks taken aback. Castiel presses his lips to close. 

"Like what?"Castiel frowns. Dean doesn't help with the press of his lips. “Don’t make me go there and fix your position, Dean.” He warns.

Dean’s body visibly trembles, and he gets in position quicker than lightning. Castiel casts his attention to his work, keeping his mind focused and off to the straying thought of how Dean’s obvious care—his concern—gets his stomach fluttering. He has no business worrying about Castiel after all. In the same manner, Castiel has no business worrying over the rough voice who answered Dean’s phone number, and that Dean lied to him about his injury.

“Shut up now, Dean.” He mutters to himself.

“Hey, I haven’t said anything!” the model complaints.

Castiel curses himself. Dean’s noise in his head is discouraging.

Soon, he finds his rhythm in chiseling his way out of Dean’s bust using a flat tool. The model’s curves aligned with that of the stone that if Castiel wasn’t a real expert, he’d be wondering if the stone was made to be Dean. It’s like a match made by heaven. He goes around the marble hammering and chipping, checks on Dean’s posture from time to time, steps in close to the model until he understands the pattern and intently works the bust that by the time they took their lunch, the front of the figure has Dean’s collar and right ripped angle. He would have worked more if not for the phone ringing, the housekeeper reminding him to take the necessary replenishment.

Dean stayed for lunch and afterward, they continued where they left off, Dean easily getting his clothes off and Castiel getting used to the flash of skin and body doesn’t mind so much. He doesn’t even comment when Dean excuses himself for a few minutes and run to the bathroom from time to time. It’s around this time Dean finally decides to wear those jeans.

Castiel packs his tools when four o clock hits its mark. He gives the bust finishing touches and studies the bottom side he still needs to refine. Dean fixes the collar of his shirt and nods at him when their eyes meet.

“Should be going. Next Saturday then?” 

“Yes and wait… Here.” Castiel hands his model a paperback. Dean appears surprised when he takes it and looks inside like a child gifted with a bag of presents.

“What is this, Cas?” Dean asks slowly, eyes following Castiel who’s already back on the other table.

“Open it.” Castiel says, “And next week I need to ask you to face back. A little more refining should finish the bust until our next—"

“Cell phone?” Dean’s eyes widened, “What—?”

“You lost your phone didn’t you?” Castiel replies distractedly, carrying another slab with a growing frown on his face. He thought Dean was on his way. “It has my contact details already so take it. Anyway, it isn’t mine so,”

“What do you mean this is not yours?” Dean’s green eyes still follow him around the room. Castiel couldn’t be bothered to look as he placed the clay in front of his pedestal which was supposed to be Dean’s thighs. He dusts his hands with eyebrows hiking up, staring at Dean. The intensity on the look of his eyes is something Castiel could not understand. Was he not supposed to give him one when he needs it?

“For a guy who comes here once a week, it would be irresponsible if I did not have your contact number,” Castiel says

“I can’t accept this,” Dean says firmly. He stands opposite Castiel with the gadget back in the paper bag. Castiel stares at it, and then his model

“But you need it.”

“Yeah, I can buy one.”

“Well, I don’t need it and it’s not mine.”

“What do you mean it’s not yours— what did you do, went out for a walk a return with a brand-new phone in your hands?”

“No, I mean,” Castiel doesn’t know where to start, he did think it over, he never thought it’d be this pain in the ass, “Ms. MacLeod wanted me to use that as means of communication, but I already have my own phone so I see no point of using it. Now, you’re the one in need of a communication device, so I say take it. If you don’t want it, it’s going to rot under one of those marbles, like it did for a month before I found it.”

It was true, it even escaped his memory that he has it.

Dean stares at him with an argument on his lips so Castiel sighs snatch the paper bag and shake his head.

“Fine, I’ll give it to Ketch.”

“What? Why?” Dean doesn’t move from his position. Castiel can see his eyes narrowing, his brain gearing to something Castiel wished he could understand.

“Well, neither of us wants it so…”

“You’re gonna give it to Ketch—he’s gonna think it’s a gift—”

“It’s not a gift—it’s from Ms. MacLeod—” Castiel grinds his teeth, how long are they going to go in circles, “Look—it’s fine, leave it to me and go buy yourself a phone and then tell me—”

“But it has your contact number!” Dean insists and before Castiel can say anything else, Dean grabs the paper bag back while eyeing him like he’s the most ridiculous person in the world.

“I’m using it temporarily.” He says each stomp of his feet as he leaves to the corridor heard throughout the studio.

Castiel sighs. Dean Winchester certainly is stubborn. It makes him smile.

A week later finds Castiel polishing the arms of the statue. For this one he barely needed Dean. He was able to get the fingers in three days which leaves him refining the torso part, hardly any work of a day then comes the waist down. It’s almost two months and as far as Castiel can say, they are on schedule.

That’s until Dean comes by quietly with not so much as a ‘hey’. Castiel nods to acknowledge his presence and they both do their routine before the beginning. That is until Castiel turns to his two subjects and then frowns at the model already on the floor.

“You seem distracted.”

“I’m not.”

Castiel studies Dean for a while, then drops his gaze to the table while Dean walks to his spot. It took a moment for him on the floor so Castiel can get a good view of the arch of his body, and when finally, another five minutes passed and Dean still hasn’t put that elbow where he positioned them last, Castiel puts down his tools with growing impatience.

“Dean.” He barks, his deep voice echoing inside the studio, except Dean doesn’t look him in the eyes. It’s such a disturbing action that has never happened before. Usually Dean triumphs in playing the staring contest with Castiel that not only made him appealing but also cocky and simply irresistible. But this time Castiel recognized something off about his handsome-cocky-model.

“You know we can’t work if you’re in focus?” he begins, voices flat and trying not to sound too hostile. It’s the first time he sees Dean Winchester looking anxious, it resonates in his position, the way all his usual good position is off. Castiel could tell whatever Dean had in mind, it must be very personal.

“Dean…”

“Yeah, I got it.” Dean still doesn’t lookup. Gritting his teeth, the model tries to shift again, and Castiel whose eyes never leave him finally set his chisel down. He doesn’t like the way Dean looks so defeated now. It will reflect on his piece.

“Dean, what’s the matter?” it slips out of his lips before he can think them through. Asking Dean a personal question like that—now Castiel is the one intruding one’s privacy.

“Nothing, you look sleepy, Cas? You worked all night?” Dean says in an attempt to get the attention away from him.

“No,” Castiel lied, “it’s the same as eating in the studio which you, Mr. Pizzaman, isn’t allowed to do. This is a working area, not a cafeteria. Working on a piece when judgment is impaired, ill or under any effects of medication is prohibited. What more when sleep-deprived, that’s not how this works at all. The same with the model. He can’t be allowed in the studio when his wits are not with him. If he continues to do so, the sculptor has every right to banish him from his sight.”

Dean stares at him in the eyes, mouth hanging open.

“You asking me to leave?” he asks uncertainly.

Castiel watches those beautiful green eyes morph into something hopeful, leaving him wondering what it was that made Dean Winchester succumb to such a vulnerable expression. He wants to know. Wants to tell Dean it’s okay to tell him, but that is overstepping their boundaries.

“I believe so. You’re not useful to be distracted,” Castiel stands up from his chair, remove his goggles, and puts it on his working bench “So get out.”

“Cas—” there’s an urgency from Dean’s voice but the artist doesn’t turn.

“Go, Dean. I’m not going to keep you here when your thoughts are elsewhere. That behavior is as disrupting as it is. Go attend where you have to be, but make sure when you return in an indefinite time, you will be your usual smug, self-confident, cocky-self that I can print handsomely on my project so both our pays are justified.”

Castiel hears Dean scramble to his feet. He turns just in time to see Dean pulling on his jeans quicker than lightning, but not before he can fully tuck away the bulge in his cock. Castiel need not turn away—he has seen plenty of naked people in his life—seeing Dean’s body should be nothing to him and yet he feels a curious sensation dropping heavily at the pit of his stomach so he looks away. He decides it must be common decency that made him turn away, not paying attention to the call of his arousal—which he also find strange because he’s never had this kind of reaction to any other model. For him who has studied the art of human anatomy, Dean should be nothing but a skeletal form with ample amount of hard muscle, fair and beautifully freckled skin that asks to be touched, curves of his sides that make one’s mouth water and protruding hipbones and fully shaped cock bulging from inside his boxer.

Castiel swallows hard and he finds himself burning. Oh yes, this definitely isn’t the day to face Dean. He watches from the corner of his eyes until Dean is standing straight again, face towards him as he pulls his shirt on, like a man who just jumped out of bed after a one-night stand. What would it be like to be this man’s one night—

Castiel grits his teeth. Fantasizing about his model certainly is something new and he didn’t appreciate it. He appreciates Dean, yes, but as a model. He tries hard to be funny, but his smiles are always genuine. There’s something behind his eyes that blazes with fire, something about him that can burst anyone’s disheartened soul into life. Not for the last time, Castiel wonders _who_ is making Dean this worried. Curiosity fills the artist as he finally stares up and watches the man scramble to put his shoes on. Dean doesn’t even bother with his collar and for a second, Castiel has this impulse to walk to Dean and fix his collar. He ends up crossing his arms.

 _Was it a girl_? He wonders. That’s none of his business too. He doesn’t realize how tightly locked his jaws are until they hurt. And Dean finally able to locate his song—again appearing like an overzealous lover running out from his mistress room— he starts toward the door while rummaging for his phone.

“Take care of her,” Castiel says trying to sound dismissive but failing. Dean’s catastrophic day seems to be getting on him too. He shifts to his half chiseled bust with barely any collar in it. Castiel nearly chipped that away last night so it’s a good thing he had some four hours sleep at least. He wonders if Dean will be coming back soon and what he can do at the absence of the model. Maybe he can work with the headpiece?

“It’s my brother,”

Castiel turns to the door and sees that Dean is still standing there, staring at him straight in the eyes.

“I don’t have a girl.” He adds like it’s important that Castiel understands.

Castiel’s mouth drops open but no sound comes out so he blinks. “Okay.”

Dean still lingers, hesitating for some reason. His brows work like he’s thinking deep, but with green eyes only focused at Castiel like he’s assessing him. Castiel presses his lips closed.

“It’s really okay, Dean. Just go.”

“I’ll come back if it’s nothing urgent,” Dean blurts out, backing out of the door slowly, “but I promise I’ll be back soon and I’ll tell you…”

Castiel nods dumbly. “Be careful about driving.”

Dean stares at him wide and there’s a part of Castiel that wants to read it like Dean doesn’t want to leave at all. A beat passed, even Castiel gets too embarrassed so he clears his throat and nods at the model.

Dean seems to catch his breath, and then out of nowhere he just beams—a grin so foolish it’s enough to steal Castiel’s heart. The artist quickly reached for his chest, wondering if the organ is still there when Dean finally disappeared, the sound of his feet echoing in the long corridor. It’s still there and beating so loud.

Castiel stays still for a moment, wondering if their family has a history of a heart attack. Then he lets out a long sigh and keeps staring at the spot where Dean disappeared. What happened is weird and yet oddly… wonderful.

He just realized they parted like lovers. Dean’s catastrophic day just got to him indeed.

“Taking a day off?” says the speakerphone outside the corridor when Castiel calls the security line to tell them he’s off to go out for the rest of the afternoon. “Thought you work for years straight.”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Castiel replies, “I will return at sundown, please tell the caretaker there’s no need to get me supper.”

“Oh? Are you going to have a date? Broken heart? I saw Winchester running like the devil’s chasing him— did you make a move to make him scream like that? Because if he doesn’t want it, I’d gladly take the bite."

Castiel half rolls his eyes. “He’d know it if I made a move on him. You’re still not allowed an arm’s length on his ass or mine. Now please get the gates open before you ruin my day.”

“Harsh. I like it when you play hard—”

Castiel hung up the phone. He made a smooth exit in his rented Oldsmobile 88 he got for a very low price and drove down the freeway. It doesn’t take him long to find the antique shops he’s been meaning to see since arriving in Kansas. He has a weakness to stone antiquities, and he finds the most amazing art like a hidden gem inside antique shops and flea markets anywhere. Like a scavenger hunt to rare places where he finds his innate self-drinking the memory of the past, like an old soul. He has followed his schedule faithfully, this sudden window is his only chance, otherwise, he will wait till the end of the third month.

Asking around panned out to be the best solution, he soon finds himself parking outside a singular building antique shop with a statue of a horse’s head outside the two glass display windows. From the car, he already spotted old art deco lamps and other treasure troves inside. The familiar sound of chimes inside old stores are like harps of angels in his ears. The old man by the counter nods at him and continued drinking the content of an ancient book. Castiel smiles at him quietly before he begins to explore the field.

He immersed himself in the shelves and arrays of junk before he spots the usual vintage boxes and the miniature of objects he always gazes at with fondness. Soon he finds old pieces of mini marble statues—angels of oddly shaped no bigger than a thumb and

Castiel stops by the counter to pay for his due when he notices an oddly shaped African tribal necklace of golden brass hanging alone by the rack of old watches.

“An amulet to keep off bad luck to someone important?”

Castiel lifts chin up to find the old man staring at him with a pair of pale blue eyes still twinkling, much alive—a person happy where he is doing what he loves. That or he’s just incredibly nice.

“How’d you know?” he asks, taking the necklace.

“Thinking about your loved one?” the old shop owner asks.

Castiel presses a small smile and nods.

“Something like that.” He doesn’t sound himself when he returns the necklace back to where it hangs, “But asking for that kind of protection… is the same as asking for what it is meant to null away to come.”

“You are sharp.” Says the owner, billing out the three pieces of angels, peering at Dean over his thick spectacles. “You’re very spiritual, I can tell. I suppose you’re enough to fight off the bad luck of your cherished one.”

“But I don’t think he’s bad luck… just… incredibly reckless.” Castiel hands him the payment in cash, just as he takes the parcel too.

“Mmmm… interesting sort, aren’t they? Well, better than nothing,”

Castiel left the premises with the necklace safely tucked with the angel figures. He made a few more stops to the hardware and the pharmacy before calling it a day and returning home before sunset. He arrives late back that night wondering what had happened to Dean and his brother. It’s past supper and the cold food is left covered on the table when he settles the energy boosters in the fridge. Dean hasn’t called him all afternoon, but it’s not that he’s waiting—it’s Dean who promised that he’ll get back to him, whatever that means.

It’s when Castiel thinks of Dean in the silence of his drive. The antique owner easily guessed that he was thinking of someone he was quite taken with to the point of describing it as a loved one. But he doesn’t love Dean Winchester— how could he over a guy who’s done nothing but to get on his nerves on a daily basis? He is hot, quite beautiful and someone Castiel really wants—but he’d never wrongly label it as love.

Then what would he call the nights he would stare at Dean’s reference photos.

[ ](https://diminuel.tumblr.com/post/632795416556093440/art-masterpost-for-the-dying-gaul-by-spnsmile-i)

The way his heart would leap whenever Dean visits him. The way Dean makes him want to keep carving his body like he wants to cement his memory.

The way Dean makes him smile.

The thought struck Castiel.

He steps to his dark studio and turns on the lights. It remained exactly how he left it hours ago. Removing his coat, Castiel checks the dried bust only needing a few more sand scrapes when he hears the loud sound of running feet. He glances around in time to see Dean Winchester appear in the open doorway, red face sweaty with round eyes locking with him. His chest is heaving, breathing hard like he just ran a marathon.

There’s a chunk of silence where they just find themselves staring at each other and holding their breaths. Then Dean breaks into a bright dazzling smile— so pure in his delight to see Castiel he steps in with springs in his feet—

“Cas!”

“Dean,” Castiel can’t hide his surprise, “What are you doing here? And why are you all soaked in sweat?”

Dean only flashes him a sheepish grin.

Dean tells him about Sam who had an accident that morning. Somebody borrowed his brother’s car and got on a road accident when Sam called him just to tell him he’s okay in case someone contacts him, so Dean won’t get worried. In did the opposite but Sam didn’t want him missing a work schedule.

“He’s a pain in the ass but he’s my brother and I couldn’t just sit down and not see him after that horrible news…” he finishes as Castiel gives him a cup of coffee in the kitchen when Castiel decided to invite him for one.

Castiel nods. “It’s only natural, he’s your brother. How is he?”

“He’s fine, he wasn’t in the car—it was the old pick up truck I refurbished and gave to him after he got accepted in Stanford,” Dean’s fingers drum the lid of the cup, obviously still feeling the adrenaline of that morning. Castiel watches him quietly while he sips his own coffee, listening to Dean, “I paid the towing company to return it to the garage so I can work on it again. It’s not so damaged beyond repair, but you know my brother’s got an attachment to it and he looked really guilty when I showed up so what’s an older brother to do?”

“How’s his dormmate?”

“Oh, he’ll live. Got stitches on his face but I made sure the driver’s seat can take impact. I know Sammy’s not a reckless driver, but you can never tell with our kind of luck.”

“You’re very protective of him.”

“Well, he is my younger brother,” Dean gives Castiel a serious look, “He got picked on a lot in junior high because he’s always the new kid…. Dad’s work got us moving to different states in a month, see… well, he’s the only I got after dad died, of course, I’d take care of him. And he’s really smart you geniuses should really meet someday, you know? He asked about work and I told him about you. He said he’s glad you understood—said he’ll thank you for letting me off this time. But just to make sure I send the message, I returned as quickly as I could, but you closed shop and I couldn’t contact you— Thought you must’ve taken a day off.”

Castiel blinks and fishes for his own phone. He grimaces when he sees the battery dead.

“Strange. I don’t usually use it, so there really was no need to charge it from time to time.”

“Yeah, where’d you go?”

“Just some antique shop at the edge of town. I checked it on google and found some cheap marble designs I wanted to use for casting. But why were you so sweaty when you came in?”

“Oh, that?” Dean’s eyes sparkle again like some secret he’s embarrassed to share, “I uh… I was already three blocks away and when I looked back, I saw the lights were switched on. I dunno… I just ran like hell… wanted to see you.”

They stare at each other again, the air between them getting thicker as Castiel’s heart skips a beat. He doesn’t know why Dean is staring at him that way, but it’s not the usual challenging look or the playful look he usually adorns. Sincerity bleeds in his soft expression and Castiel finds himself wanting to freeze time, to seal this moment where Dean’s beauty surpassed everything Castiel has seen in his life.

“Thank you for letting me off the hook,” Dean’s voice gets a little rough as he finally looks down to his mug still cradled between his palms, “I was really about to fly to Sam but when he told me he’s fine, told me to go to work and I told him he’s an idiot. Then I remembered we’re on schedule and—”

“I’m glad you’re not an idiot, then,” Castiel amends, “Nothing’s more important than your brother’s life. And I really wouldn’t have allowed you to stay. I’d capture your worry on the figure and that’s a different tragedy entirely. I never want to see you like that again.” He says with some conviction, gazing at Dean deep in the eyes.

It was the truth. Dean scared him. The way the light in his eyes disappeared, the way the usual easy smile didn’t reach his lips, like his spirit was slowly getting pulled out of his body—he never wanted to witness that again.

The corner of Dean’s lips curves into a familiar smile. Castiel catches his eyes filled with warmth, sending ripples of electricity all over his body. It’s different when he sees Dean happy. He’s never considered it, but Dean’s goofy smile makes his day.

“You’re not bad,” Dean says after a while, “You’re… really not bad.”

“I beg to differ.” Castiel quietly picks up his coffee and drinks again.

“Uh, you know what? There’s a flea market going on around my friend Charlie’s Art’s school and anyone can come—it’s like a mini bazaar-exhibit where they get to showcase all their products and you can buy their stuff for a reasonable price so…” Dean’s eyes round hopeful, “Wanna go with me this Sunday?”

“No,” Castiel replies flatly. Dean pouts and he hooks both his arms on the table so he can lean closer to Castiel, but the artist has made up his mind, “I can’t. We have already lost a day—”

“Then I’ll come back here tomorrow—”

“No,”

“Oh, come on, I know we’re on schedule—but it won’t hurt to have one day taken off again? You’re not one of those beauties is more important than life, right? Come on, there’ll be plenty of living model there too—"

“I don’t need a moving model. I want my model to stay still like I want to.”

“Seriously? You’ve been working hard every day, sometimes I’m afraid I’ll just come back here and see you gone with the statue sitting there finished and all—"

“But that’s the plan—”

“Come on, Cas, it won’t take too much of your time! What do you do to have fun around here?”

“As a matter of fact, I am enjoying every second I work. And what I do with my time is my own.” Castiel sighs. “I can’t— what are you doing?” he frowns, disconcerted.

Dean gives him a pleading look—Castiel ought to kiss those lips. 

“Okay, I’m sorry, but please?” Dean’s eyes just twinkling in desperation and Castiel couldn’t understand why a man such as Dean was even making a big deal out of Castiel saying no.

“Why are you so adamant about this? I have a sculpture to finish.”

“in a few months, we’re scheduled to do this for more months. Your calendar tells me we got more days left—and I’ll stay here on weekdays too if you want! I only got one modeling gig in the morning—I can stay here for a month with you if you like.”

“No, I don’t like that.” Castiel presses his lips back. There’s more to Dean that he knows he doesn’t know— _doesn’t want to know because it’s way too much to handle._ What temptation is Dean Winchester giving him?

“I just want you to see Charlie’s artwork of me,” Dean says seriously and it’s this that got Castiel blinking.

“You… modeled for your friend?”

“Yeah, she asked me to do it I think that was a month ago when you were busy sawing and hammering my shape on your precious rock. It’s nothing like what we do here, but she’s good. C’mon, let me show it to you,”

“No.,” Castiel says with less certainty. Dean seems to sense it, he slides right in front of Castiel, half his body already on the table, and his face are so solemn, it made the artist wish he can paint him too. So maybe Dean also looks this good in other people’s art…

“Whatever happened to ‘you can’t rush art?”

But he’s already sold even before Dean made his last piece. Sunday it is.


	6. The Antiquities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which jealousy swings and cock museum is a thing

The sanding of the bust he’s finished within the week gives him a 30 percent done within the second month. The torso is the easiest one as it only come twelve inches in height. The next sandpapers he used are finer in size.

Dean came that Saturday so they can finish the torso area and before he left, he reminded Castiel of their date the next day. Castiel still isn’t sure what made him agree, but since he’ll be losing an uncertain number of hours, he polished both the bust and the arms with gusto. Turning marbles into porcelain take that much effort by sanding the material five to six times.

For the rest of the day, he’s got nothing on his gloved hand except rough sandpaper to take out the big digs and chunks and scratched it all over and grind until his shoulder itch, his sweat drops in beads down the hard surface and for his fingers to ache but it’s worth it when he dunks his last sandpaper to water. The recesses are hard to reach so he had to use bamboo sticks carefully to reach them since bamboo never scratches marble.

He was so satisfied that night staring at the half-done parts that he fell asleep without taking a shower and the next morning, the buzz of his phone awakens him to signal his trip out for the rest of the day.

Castiel drops his back on the cold floor and sighs. His shoulders are aching, his arms are on flame, but come 10 in the morning, he’s well freshened up after a long warm shower and breakfast. His fingers still itch when Dean comes around to pick him up in an old but well-polished 1967 chevy impala that got Castiel tilting his head.

Dean peers at him, smiling wide.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” he says first thing when Castiel drops beside him on the shotgun. The creaking sound it made has Castiel wanting to scratch his ears.

“I don’t mind it,” Castiel says carefully.

“Hey, careful or you’ll hurt her feelings.”

Castiel grimaces. “Are we getting on our way or are we going to argue about your car?”

“Geez, I thought you have a taste...”

“I think it’s precious that you’re driving a dream car, Dean—”

“Yes! It’s like being in a dreamboat!”

“That’s not what I mean—can we go now?”

Dean drives on the freeway still looking smug. “I got her fixed in Bobby’s garage for free. See, this is my dad’s car and he’s taken good care of it from the beginning but it got busted bad when I was chased…well, anyway, good thing Bobby Singers—a good friend of my old man—told me he’d let me fix her if I work for him. I still get paid—well half of what others earn but it’s better than nothing. I got the hang of working with cars. Soon even Bobby had to give me a raise cause I’m so fucking good.”

Castiel nods, feeling Dean’s joy circuit the air between them, leaving a small smile on his lips. The road is wide clear of traffic, but Dean still stops when the traffic light goes red. There’s an amicable atmosphere in the air—it’s that or it’s because Dean’s not his usual self being an asshat.

“Then why do you have to work as a model, or are you just passionate about being naked?”

Dean harks a laugh, it’s something Castiel has never heard but the ripple it made reached down the pits of his stomach, making him glance up and stare at Dean from the side view.

“Nah, I got to do more when I take care of Sammy. He said he can work his ass off to pay for his university, but that’s crazy. He’s got a dream he wants to reach and I’m just an extra muscle there to help him. Sam’s gonna be a lawyer, have I told you that?”

“Yes,” Castiel fixes Dean a look. As far as he can tell, Dean’s done nothing short of praising his little brother when all the while he himself has been doing a proper job raising a very good man. From what he’s heard, Sam seems like a very nice guy—fruits and labor of Dean’s influence. Except Castiel doesn’t think Dean sees it that way.

They arrived at the community college where Dean’s friend, Charlie is working as a part-time instructor. Castiel remembers Dean telling him how Charlie asked him to be a model and if Castiel is going, to be honest, he was only here for one thing.

It’s like any other even in a school, open to everyone without any entrance fees. Boots and tents stand side by side on the large football field that takes Castiel awhile to size up before Dean is pulling him by the wrist down the steep steps of the stone staircase. They wade their way brushing shoulders with the crowd—there’s an eyeful to see from designed shirts, musical instruments out of wood crafts, wood designs, ceramics and other creative craft. Castiel gets a blurred view of everything else because Dean won’t stop tugging his arm forward.

“Charlie! Hey, Charlie!”

“Hey, Winchester!” calls a petite lady with bright red hair as the two stops short right outside a rectangular booth where Castiel sees dozens of canvas stand. There are people inside the exhibit walking in rounds and in groups, staring and pointing at the paintings with different expressions but Castiel’s eyes get glued on the portrait of Dean by the entrance. It’s only his head down to the shoulder blades where the pigments play trick to how his skin looked so in tone with the real one, how the opaque layers bring out the scatter of Dean’s freckles—it’s captivating.

“Looking good with people!”

“Oh, you know, tell them there are a nude male and female inside the closed shop getting live painted and everyone wants to get in,” she winks at him with her eyes falling on Castiel. Her eyes easily round with a bright smile upon her lips. “Hi, wow Dean, where’d you get this guy? I want one.”

“Sorry, he’s not available. And he’s a sight to look at right?” Dean says like Castiel is not there beside him. When he does remember, it’s only because Castiel elbows his side. The model clears his throat. “Uh, right, Charlie, this is Cas—Cas, Charlie— my sister from someone else’s womb. Or at least, that’s her line.”

“Hi,” she greets again, extending a hand that Castiel shakes. “Dean didn’t tell me he’ll bring a friend—a fair warning just in case—his good side is the back—”

“Hey, shut up.”

“It’s okay, I have seen him naked.”

Dean chokes on his own while Charlie stares at him with wide eyes. He doesn’t blink with his attention keep getting distracted by the portrait just behind her.

“Um, Dean, this is the guy you said with the chips and chisel?” Charlie says, leaning to Dean in conspiration. Castiel squints at them. They look like real siblings too.

“Yep, stunning, isn’t he?” Dean agrees. Charlie elbows him.

“Yes, and wow, no wonder you never give me your weekends. Can’t blame you. But hey, have you seen Lisa? She was just here a while ago looking for you.”

“Lisa’s here?” Dean half glances in Castiel’s direction.

“Yeah, she was just here a minute ago—oh there she is—hey Lisa!”

Both Castiel and Dean turn to see a woman in a dress, black hair tied behind her in along tail. Behind her, she holds the hand of a small boy with short black hair and an adorable chin. She’s very pretty and judging the way Dean’s expression changes, there’s more than just friendship tying them between.

“Uh, wait for me here, will you?” Dean says quietly, suddenly staring Castiel in the eyes. “I just gotta talk to her. She’s uh… she’s a very good friend.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Castiel shrugs but Dean won’t move, “I’ll stay.”

Dean nods at him before running towards the mother and child, leaving Castiel and Charlie watched as he reaches them. Castiel can’t see his expression, but he brought such joy to his face that almost made Castiel envious. He pulls his eyes away to the painter.

“Who are they?” Castiel can’t help asking.

Charlie jumps like she’s burned.

“Um… I mean—I don’t want to be the one to tell it to you if you and Dean are you know… _together.”_

“We’re not.” He says flatly. He sees her blink uncertainly, blushes creeping on her cheeks out of embarrassment.

“Well, it looked like it… I mean, the way Dean looks at you, I could tell—” she stops at the look on his face but really he did nothing but stare her in the eyes. She glances up instead, “She’s a good friend of ours… Dean’s ex too…”

“Is that boy…?”

“No, I don’t think so…” she says quietly, “I mean, we know the father, he’s also an old friend, but he’s a dick ever since and she never saw that. He’s an asshole who left her right after Ben’s birth. She had it rough since then… but Dean’s always supported her both morally and financially. Dean doesn’t want to hear it, but he’s really a nice guy, you know. He already had Sam to take care of and he’s still willing to take care of her too. But Lisa’s kind of independent in making decisions she sticks to, stubborn girl. We always thought she and Dean made a pair, but I guess fate got it different. Anyway, she’s always loved Dean too, but the way things are going I don’t think she’d want to put that load on him. Anyway, she got a boyfriend who’s just another asshole.”

“And Dean’s fine with that?”

“Of course not, but he’s not the one making decisions for her, right? He visits her from time to time and every time that asshole’s there they get into a physical fight. I don’t know why Lisa puts up with him.”

Castiel shoots her a look. “Dean gets into fights?”

“Oh, a whole lot.” Charlie sighs with hands on her waist, “That guy is a whole package of trouble, it doesn’t help he’s really charming and other jealous guys are just out there to give him shit. He’s a good fighter, you don’t have to worry. His old man taught him well when he was a kid, I heard. Hunting animals in the wilderness—Dean’s just got a crazy life.”

“I see…” Castiel doesn’t ask the sudden question that flitted in his mind. “So he really has a lot of things going,” he feels Charlie’s eyes on the side of his face.

“They’re just good friends now, it’s been a long time like that!” she suddenly shrieks in his ear, her face turning bright pink. “Don’t get mad at Dean, okay? Dean will kill me if I said anything offending.”

“He’s helping his friends, why would I get angry?” Castiel tilts his head, “And why would it matter if I’m angry?” they always get into a fight a lot.

Charlie blinks at him. “Well, it’s obvious, he likes you.”

If Castiel hadn’t realized that the first time Dean would not stop having a boner in his presence, he would’ve reacted differently. He only blanks out completely until Charlie is grinning at him before disappearing inside her booth when someone calls for her, leaving Castiel staring at Dean’s portrait once again.

He wanders around, going from one booth to another of what seemed to be 350 vendors all selling different quality products. He joins the queue in checking out rarities and new styles of ideas and concepts from a young mind. He’s surprised to see several very good, well-crafted wood designs of tables, handmade scarves, home décor and more. He’s tried wood cutting before and the softness of wood sliding off his chisel brought him immense pleasure, but it’s still with hard rock that he finds his muse. He sees plenty of modern carvings and other jewelry and collectibles, but what surprised him the most is to see a stand of high-end antiques at the far end of the field. He doesn’t waste his time and quickly falls in line with the long line of people moving one step at a time.

He enters the two-tent booth and immediately falls in love with the knee-height granite statue with inner carvings tribal in nature. He wonders of the history behind it, too preoccupied that he was already on one knee glancing at the corners when a shadow drops behind him.

“But you’re Castiel Novak?”

Castiel turns and sees a tall, thin-framed young man goggling at him openly with mouth half-open. He rises from the floor, finding himself centimeters short, but enough to look the man in the eyes.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, you don’t know me, but I was at the convention of new breakthrough artists last year where they exhibited your ‘Angel blade’ collection—I must say, I’m a huge fan.” He stretches a hand, smiling wide, “I’m Inias, nice to meet you.”

“Oh, hello,” Castiel shakes his hand and curiously takes the man in who just stares at him in awe. “Thank you.”

Inias sighs, huge eyes not leaving Castiel. “It’s a pleasure. It’s just amazing to run into you here—is it someone you know who’s studying here?”

“Not really, I came with a friend.”

“And you’re looking through my antique shop—”

“Oh, this is yours?”

“Yes, come in!”

Castiel blinks and follows Inias in. It was great to have someone with a connection from the inside where against his initial rule, he gets free admission at the collection of antiques that haven’t been displayed outside. Inias told him the flea market’s open for the entire week and that the collection at the back area to be sold in pieces so as not to run out of the good display. There’s a piece Castiel picked not out of whim but of beauty.

“You have good eyes,” Inias tells him admiringly, giving him a discount, but the frame is made of actual elkwood too heavy to be carrying around. He gives Inias the shipping address, debates with himself whether he should buy the piece outside too when his better judgment stays his hands. Inias walked him out of the tent, handing him a square card in case Castiel would have the heart to look at his real shop an hour drive away.

“I wanted to invite you for coffee, but yeah, I guess your friend will be waiting for you.”

“I think he is,” Castiel tucks the card in his pocket and smiles up at Inias, “Thank you for your help today. Your collection is wonderful.”

“I will really be honored to collect your items, but the way your other patrons quickly get their hands on them—"

“I’m sorry,”

“Well, I’ll see you around.”

Castiel watches him go, sensing a kind of kindred spirit from someone who happens to like his art. And someone who owns an antique shop too. He slips his hand inside his pocket to glance at the address, memorizes it before he begins his march back to where he first started. He still got one item to buy.

“Who was he?”

Castiel glances at his side to find Dean beside him. The man is giving him a suspicious look and with the way how his lips can pout long, Castiel must’ve done something to earn getting that look.

“What are you talking about?”

Dean leans down to him with sharp eyes. “That dude who gave you his phone number.”

Castiel doesn’t react. He makes his way between people with Dean following his trail.

“He’s just some guy who owns an antique shop.”

“Seems pretty smitten, what does he want?”

“I bought something from his shop and they’re going to make a delivery, what are you doing?” because Dean rounded in front of him to look him in the eyes.

“You gave him your address?” he asks incredulously.

“They need to ship my order, Dean, what address am I supposed to give? The one in St. Louie?” Castiel stays still with other people pushing behind them so he leads Dean to a corner, “It’s nothing personal.”

“I don’t like that guy,” Dean says at once, leaving Castiel sighing and rolling his eyes.

“I’m going back to Charlie’s gallery, then probably call it a day. What about you?”

“Huh? We barely talked—”

“That’s not my fault.” He turns but Dean grabs his arm. He revs back, seeing Dean’s eyes turn soft that sends a shiver to his spine, remembering just what Charlie said to him earlier.

“Hey—I—uh, listen, I wanna make up for it! I’ll treat you with lunch!”

“I thought that was the idea?” he tilts his head, sees Dean’s eyes crinkle softly.

“Yeah—”

“Dean?”

Castiel and Dean both turn to see Lisa watching him and Dean uncertainly. She makes a small wave of a hand, then waits for Dean with eyes staring curiously at Castiel.

“Go,” Castiel whispers, tugging his arm away from Dean’s clutch.

“Hey, she’s just a friend,” Dean tells him for some reason.

“I’ll be at the paint store,” he says again and with a nod, Dean takes his leave to join her and the boy. Castiel doesn’t linger around, he goes straight to the painting booth and gets invited by Charlie to see the live painting. He watches with other dozen of eyes as a college student finishes the outline of the male model whose back is turned to the audience, his ass for eyes to see.

“Dean would’ve been an excellent model, but he said he’s not here to stick around,” Charlie mutters beside him.

Castiel doesn’t doubt Dean would look good in this crowd. He can imagine Dean’s body positioned the way the model has, but with more elegance and poise as only Dean’s perfect body could. An excellent figure to stretch and bend at will—

Castiel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The sensation is familiar. It made him smile wryly. To get turned on by just imagining his model…Castiel doesn’t need his eyes to check, he’ll be an idiot to not see Dean as nothing but sex. When he calms with the stirring excitement deep inside his lower regions abated, he turns to Charlie.

“How much is the painting outside?”

Charlie if possible, brightens up like sun rays. She hands him the portrait wrapped up in brown paper with the smile not disappearing on her face. Castiel wonders if he just helped her win a bet. That’s until she’s giving him a business card, making Castiel think people make a hobby of giving their contact information to people. Dean’s smile all the way back to the mansion tells him of a slightly different twist and it would grow into a complete wide cheeky grin every time the driver glances up to his rearview mirror where the package can be seen sitting at the backseat. He doesn’t ask the question but Castiel can feel the vibration in his skin. He longs to tell Dean it’s just another way of looking at his model’s preference, but even he would not believe such a blatant lie.

The dinner with Dean is comfortable and warm. Dean tells him about his old college days where he would also model in art club while juggling part-time work. Studying wasn’t really his priority, but Charlie was always there to help. She’s a real genius too.

“She likes you a lot.” Castiel casually comments over dinner at a local dine in.

“Romantically?” Dean chews messy lips while he narrows his beautiful green with its own starlight.

“Hardly. She prefers the ladies.”

“Boy, you really are sharp.”

By the time Castiel is back in his own private rooms and finished a shower, two business cards fall from his inner pockets. He picks up one and recognizes the antique dealer but the second one made him frown. It was not Charlie’s number—nor is it anything related to painting at all. It’s the name of a studio. The address is not far but as Castiel dries his hair preparing to sleep, something connects.

It’s Dean’s modeling agency. Why would Charlie give him the address of Dean’s other job? He recalls briefly Dean telling him he’s landed another modeling job for a cover that shoots around every Wednesday, but the question is why?

Castiel slips the cards in his other pocket and heads for his room where he sits at the edge of his bed and unwraps Dean’s portrait. It’s unspoken between them now, but Castiel knows that Dean’s aware of it. That they’ve been aware of it the moment they stopped all the bickering and nonsensical arguments because without the fire between them to start the day, then what else is between them?

It’s strange how it’s not even surprising. He puts the portrait on the wall near the open window where Castiel likes to stare out to see the night skies. Dean belongs there, him and his bright eyes captured at the moment by the wonderful art.

Castiel falls asleep with the last memory of the green eyes intent upon him too. He dreams of Dean.

The next morning, Castiel is proud of the curve and shape of the torso without much needing of Dean in person. He finished the details with very fine claws and flat chisels, bringing out the shape of the navel and the little lump under it into an actual pack of Dean. It’s Friday and he’s not expecting to see his model until tomorrow when he remembers the address Charlie casually gave him. What he makes of it, he finds out later.

He doesn’t usually do this; he tells himself that afternoon as he crossed the street wearing a thick dark jacket. It’s been five days since the flea market and all those days he’s worked on the other parts of the statue, this always springs in his mind like a bad sore thumb. He doesn’t have Charlie’s number, nor does he want to ask Dean about it, so taking it up to himself, he went to the address. He sees the tarpaulin and signages outside the lone building in an industrial area. People walk past him casually as he stays staring up the not three-layer building.

He steps in and hunts for the name of the modeling agency until he is standing outside. He sees Dean’s poster outside in tight leggings with the design of a bear. He blinks up to Dean’s topless body, Dean so irresistibly handsome he wonders idly why people have not gone insane over his perfection. He glances down the glass doorway and hesitates. It’s really none of his business what Dean does in his other job. But being an underwear model is the beginning of a good career. How long has Dean been doing this?

“I told you I won’t do it.”

“It’s easy cash, and face it, Winchester, we’re not reaching any breakthrough here in this dump.”

Castiel glances at the tiny hall where he just came from and hears the voices talking from the narrow stairs. He recognizes Dean’s voice and another man as they come right up from the ground floor.

“I don’t want to do it, okay? And that’s final. Geez, you’ve been at this for weeks. Just leave me alone.”

“I just want what’s good for your career.”

“Yeah, so you think working in the adult industry will give me that break?”

“It’s just for the experience.”

“Well, I don’t exactly make fucking someone a business.”

“That’s the meaning of porn, idiot.”

“Shut up, I’m not doin any porn video, you ass—"

Castiel gazes straight at Dean’s eyes when the two emerges from the shadow of the stairs. He sees Dean’s eyes round into saucers when it falls on him, jaw-dropping open. Beside him, a small, balding man blinks at Castiel, then his eyes narrow and a smile forms on his lips.

“Are you looking for a job?”

Dean’s hand slaps on his chest hard, irritation was quick in his eyes.

“Don’t start. He’s my friend and no, he’s not here for that.”

Appalled, the man nods and slips inside the glass doors, but not after catching Castiel’s glare. He ducks inside and disappears, leaving Castiel and Dean staring at each other. Dean steeps closer, Castiel unwavering in his position.

“Cas? What are you doing here?”

“You’re not doing that porno, are you?” he drawls, and it must be his deadpan expression that has Dean glaring.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Is he forcing you to do it?”

“What? No—no, he’s my manager… he’s just worried for my career and I need a little bit of cash…” he shrugs, trying to make light of things but Castiel can see that it’s more than just embarrassment or uncertainty that shades the glint in his eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with the adult industry, he’s right, it does pay a huge amount.”

Dean frowns at him, “What do you know about it?”

Castiel inclines his head. “I’ve known people to find the industry satisfactory and generous… and if you want a boost in career, it’s one of the paths well sought by many. You would be a star considering…”

Castiel stops at the gaze Dean suddenly give him.

“Well, I don’t want it. And I don’t want your opinion trying to goad me into it, okay?”

“I’m not—”

“And whether I do it or not, that’s none of your fucking business. What are you doing around here snooping around what I do? God tired with your marble stones to chip at and want to pick—”

“Charlie gave this address to me,” Castiel says firmly, “She gave it to me last Sunday and I don’t even know what to make of it.” He pauses, “I suppose she’s worried about you. I’m sorry for worrying too, you’re right. You can take care of it. I’m sorry for sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong, Winchester.”

The drop in Dean’s shoulder doesn’t eliminate Castiel’s own cold rage as he walks past the man in silence.

Dean never called him back.


	7. The Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which something shifted in favor of hearts..

_“I can take care of it, okay?”_

Castiel pounds the flat chisel down, giving the curves of the marble’s thighs a form almost that of his model’s size. He chisels down the rugged surfaces, pushing down the peaks to create a shallow parallel groove around the figure’s v-joints, pointing his tool another way to refine the waistline because he’s only waiting now.

He twirls the curved-tipped chisel when he rounds behind marble to shape around the ass when after a few minutes he realized he’s being watched.

“I wish you would look at me like that.”

Castiel doesn’t look up, but he considerable lightened his tapping at the end of the chisel, careful not to destroy that beautiful ass. He worked another angle and tilted his head, begins chipping away the last pieces to finally prepare the object for the rasps.

“Cas…”

Castiel heaves a sigh when he straightens. He blinks at his figure for a moment and then lowers his arms. He should be good for filling now and he knows exactly where to start. Moving to his workbench, he selected the finer edged tool for filing then turns around to finally face Dean.

The model hasn’t moved from the entrance, just stood there hovering and watching Castiel with soft, guilty eyes. If Castiel isn’t feeling antagonistic, he would say Dean looks very handsome in green flannel and loose the shirt. The lines of his face are perfect, the solemn expression making him all that beautiful. His hair is ruffled messily like he hasn’t the time to fix them after a quick shower. The softness reflects on his bent shoulders, the way his beautiful lips are pressed in a tight, guilt-ridden line tells Castiel much of his night. He wonders if Dean had the same evening as he did after they parted the way they did.

Castiel stops in front of the marble and flickers an eye at the model.

“Strip.”

Dean doesn’t even need telling twice. He locks the door behind him and tugs his shirt up to his head, all packed muscles of his back in the right places, shape of his spine the perfect arch in any anatomy Castiel had ever seen. He watches as the model removes his jeans till he’s balling his socks and when he turns, Castiel doesn’t even shy away from meeting his eyes. He lets Dean see that he is watching, let Dean know that he can see everything. The hard swallow it received awakened something in Castiel he’s been trying to stomp down, but not today. He grips his hammer tight when Dean positions himself on the flat pedestal, angles his shoulder, bowlegs the way he’s always done, arms stretched before him and then he looks up at Castiel straight in the eyes with the most earnest stare, seeking forgiveness.

Castiel leans down his object and begins filing. He eyes Dean heavily, making sure to catch his eyes every time, and like that, hours poured by. Castiel is very diligent in shaping Dean’s perfect balls, craning his neck to find the exact lines and refining the edges of the softness. He flickers a look at Dean still just staring at him when he should have had his head down, but Castiel is done with those parts, so Dean can stare away and watch Castiel perfect his shape. It’s a rigorous process for one who does not have the proper tools and concentration, but right now Castiel just wants to perfect Dean. Remember Dean this way and embed it not only on memory. He doesn’t know if it’s fate, but it seems the true essence of the Dying Gaul is really how the model portrays it with emotion, and just now Dean emits an aura of ‘dying’. Castiel drinks that in. He shapes the long rod when he settles the last line of Dean’s amply shaped soft cock.

Until Dean’s limb begins to twitch.

Castiel only stops for a margin of a second, then flattens the area. When he turns at his model again, it’s to see Dean’s half-hard cockchanging the angle. Castiel halts his hands, then slowly drags his eyes to Dean whose head is bowed with the tips of his ears red, his fist closed tightly before him. Straightening, Castiel flickers eyes to Dean and his equipment. It doesn’t stop growing. Castiel straightens his back and takes a lungful of air.

“What are you doing?” he asks with a voice a little lower than usual when he approaches Dean, half glancing at the man’s filling cock.

“Just… stop looking for awhile okay…?” Dean mutters, not looking up with face flushed. He digs his fist on the floor and the strain on his legs is showing. It won’t do well for modelling if the model is strained like that.

“Dean…”

“I can’t help it— you’re looking at me with that friggin fantasy eyes.” Dean breathes heavily, his voice rough, almost choked. “You have any idea how you make people feel when you look at em’? Either you kill it or you ruin it—now you’ve ruined it.”

Castiel sighs and pulls his rough dirty gloves off his hands. Kneeling down, he reaches a hand on Dean’s jaw and tilts his head up. Dean’s green eyes shine with unshed tears, both guilty and ashamed. They visibly soften when Castiel rubs the sharp edge of Dean’ chin, making the man lean to his touch, blinking soft eyes until his breathing stops being ragged. He is so beautiful like that. All filled before him and full of longing. Like he wants to. Castiel’s body stiffens and the frown he gives Dean is deadly, full of warning. In response Dean sighs to his touch and angles his face so his lips brush against the artist’s calloused palms.

He kisses Castiel’s hand with wet lips.

“Cas….” Dean’s voice is wrecked. Castiel can only have so much control.

Taking Dean’s chin, he pulls him for a deep kiss, firing up his already heating body, sending blazing fire all over his skin as he sinks his tongue into Dean’s warm open mouth. Dean’s body shivers as he grabs Castiel’s wrists for balance, opening his mouth when their tongues meet and slides to welcome each other. Dean’s lips are soft and ready and responding. Castiel can’t shake away his greed when he pushes Dean back by the chest, feeling Dean’s heart ramming against his touch, hearing Dean’s gasp of protest when their lips part and Castiel so wants Dean undone. But Castiel wants to take control. Dean is beautiful and he knows he is wanted. He’s wanted it the first time he saw Dean staring at his art. The first time he’s wanted a man, now all for him to take.

Castiel slides his warm hand to the familiar lines of Dean’s stomach, feeling the twitch and tremble in his bare skin. He keeps one hand firmly holding Dean’s jaw when his fingers brushed the man’s aching cock. Dean shuts his eyes close, tears sliding down his cheek as he leans hard on Castiel’s other hand, when the artist presses around Dean’s twitching cock. A tiny gasp escapes Dean’s lips, body jolting involuntarily, his whole face bright and blushing. His breathing doesn’t ease as Castiel stares at the pulsating limb under his palm as he slowly but carefully wraps hand around it.

“Cas…” Dean groans, reaching both hands to Castiel’s free arm and digging his fingers there. Castiel runs his palm from the root of the hardening cock up to the sweltering moist at the head of the cock. He jerks Dean for a few seconds, enjoying the feel and the heat of the perfect limbs shamelessly growing more under his gaze. Castiel swallows hard. With a glance at Dean whose eyes remain close, feeling Castiel’s hand rub the sensitive slit of his cock with teeth biting down his lower lip, Castiel kisses his lips. Dean’s response is quick, lips melting as Castiel jerks him through. Dean’s body is very sensitive and his reaction to every twist and tug on his cock is miraculously alluring and Castiel can only hold himself back for a second when he pulls away, lean down and swallow Dean down to the root.

Dean’s cry is beautiful, music to his ears and Castiel wants to hear more. He can feel Dean inside his mouth, big and heavy and tasty with precum. It pulsates at his first pull, licking the top of the head and kissing it before swallowing it down again. Dean drops down to his back, wrecked as he breathes and moans when Castiel begins to bob his head in earnest. He makes love with Dean’s cock. He can feel his own body heating up, his own hardness pressing at the edge of his jeans, aroused in all manner. It’s want and desire that moves his stiff body, unrelentless of bringing his muse to the edge. Dean doesn’t know how beautiful he is and frankly, Castiel doesn’t want to forget this moment, when he finally gets to have him, after months of secretly wanting, all his desire building up to this moment clears his head of his need—his want—Dean’s cock in his mouth.

Hungrily, he pulls up to hold the root down, feeling the tip of Dean’s cock hit the roof of his mouth, hot rod hard and throbbing when he licks around it. He can’t help staring at one of the finest shaped cock he’s seen, and this is not just an image. He can feel it, can kiss it, swallow it greedily, feel his mouth wrap around it and suck him down. Dean’s legs tremble around him but it’s the beautiful man’s hand on his hair that gets Castiel motivated to move. Dean’s hips had been trying to thrust forward, hindered only by Castiel’s palm but when he removes it, Dean hardly needed any moment as he thrust inside Castiel’s lips.

“Shit… shit….” He murmurs, voice low and groaning, body arching. “Cas, your mouth… jesus…”

It’s heavy and full, almost ready when Castiel slaps Dean’s hand away to sit upright. He glances at Dean and finds the man frozen on the spot, staring at him with wide eyes as Castiel wipe the corner of his lips.

“C-Cas?” he whispers, sitting up, mixed emotions filling his eyes and everything Castiel sees there is only uncertainty and fear. What does Dean Winchester fear? He’d like to find out. Castiel crawls around Dean’s knees, letting Dean watch as he slips between his legs, push those immaculate thighs wide and run both hands to the inner part until he’s holding Dean’s cock with both hands. He stares at Dean again, making sure he’s watching before going down on him full and ready to empty the barrel. He feels Dean’s body twitch, hear him make sound in his throat, chokes and cries battling, but Dean’s eyes are on him. Watching with bright, dark eyes as his cock disappears in his mouth.

“Cas—Cas, I’m—shit!” Dean’s hand clasps hard on his hair again and Castiel knows he is close. With feverish greed, he hollows his cheeks and sucks heavily, dragging out what he can of Dean’s throbbing cock. He pinches around Dean’s balls, rubbing behind the sensitive skin that gets Dean thrusting up, cock deep in his throat. Castiel pulls up a little, eyes stinging with pain. Dean’s heavily lidded eyes are still on him, watching with elbows supporting his weight. Castiel knows erotic is one way to describe it when he slowly swallows Dean’s cock again, enjoy seeing Dean’s mouth slacken to breathe out with his shoulders red up to his face. Castiel sucks him, licks him until Dean is groaning deep and hollow.

“I’m… Cas…” his voice dies out and he throws his head back and he explodes. Castiel pulls up just in time to let Dean finish, one hand still jerking him through while his eyes transfixed on the reddened face as it gets undone with come splashing all over Castiel’s apron and on Castiel’s cheeks.

Dean drops down the floor with a grunt, breathing heavily. His chest pumps up and down as Castiel watches him in fascination. Dean knowing eyes are upon him, covers his face with his arms in embarrassment, his cock still twitching in his thigh. Silence fell with only their ragged breathing and Castiel closes his eyes to calm himself. Silently, he stands up. His legs can still support his weight despite the number of minutes on his knees. It doesn’t matter, it’s worth it.

He walks to his workbench where he leans hands down on the table, seeing the wetness of Dean’s come and his own spit. Castiel feels his ears burn and he can’t contain the race of his heart. His mind is still a buzz and he may need a quick shower before he’s decent to face anyone again—

“Cas?” Dean’s voice jolts him in attention and Castiel opens his eyes. The voice is near behind him, he can almost taste Dean again. His shadow comes close, making Castiel’s body ache for his touch.

“I’m fine.” He lied under his breathe.

“No, you’re not… please…”

Castiel holds his breath when Dean stands so close behind him, pressing at his back with hands on his waist. He becomes sensitive to Dean’s presence that when his lips brush at the back of his neck, Castiel nearly jumped out of his skin. He can feel the smile form on Dean’s lips as Castiel holds back a sound. Dean’s wet mouth kisses his exposed neck, hands wrapping about him and sliding down under his apron, pressing against his still hard cock.

“Dean,” he says in a failed attempt of warning. Dean doesn’t get unnerved as he works his hand to open Castiel’s button and pull down his fly. Dean’s nose nudged at the back of his ear, his breath hot and sending vibrations all over his tingling body.

“Shh… I’ll take care of you, Cas… you’re so beautiful…”

Castiel shuts his eyes and bites his lips when Dean’s large hands closed around his cock. He hears Dean exhale and plants his face behind Castiel’s head.

“You’re hard… so hard for me, Cas?”

He wants to tell Dean he’s an idiot, but he can’t even come out with any words when Dean pulls his cock and strokes him under his apron. Castiel’s light body shakes. He knows he looks dirty being jerked through his work clothes, but his body screams for Dean to continue what he is doing. No one has touched him there, and now Dean, his beautiful, sexy Dean has his hands on him, jerking him making his legs turn into jelly. He leans back to Dean, breathing heavily as Dean works for his magic hands, revving his body alive.

“I got you,” Dean whispers in his ear, running his palms hard on Castiel’s erection, “God, you’re so beautiful like this Cas…I wanna make you come… come on, baby.”

Castiel swallows hard. He turns his head away, body falling in Dean’s arms. He let Dean jerk him, cock heavy and throbbing with the large hands running around it, pulling and tugging until he feels the spasm hit up his middle, and he digs his fingers to Dean’s

“Not…tools…” he rasps with a voice he doesn’t recognize.

“You coming? Wait—” Dean’s hand disappears on his cock making Castiel open his eyes at the lost touch. That’s when he feels his body get flipped so he is facing Dean, a beautiful creature with a lust deep in his green eyes Castiel can’t help falling into. Then Dean leans back to clear the tools on the table before sliding both arms under Castiel’s legs and heaves him there. Castiel steadies himself, watching Dean as the man grabs his jeans and pulls it down in one go, leaving Castiel in his upper shirt and apron while naked waist down.

Castiel unconsciously begins untying his apron, but Dean waves his hand away, bright green eyes darkening with sitting arousal that gets on Castiel when he understood.

“No, no…. I…” Dean’s eyes fall on Castiel’s lap still hidden under the brown apron. He sees Dean run the tip of his tongue around his bottom lips, chewing at it when he glances up to stare Castiel deep in the eyes. “I… I’ve always wanted you like this… you don’t know how you make me crazy…”

Dean slides a hand under the apron. Castiel holds the edges of the table tight, knowing what’s to come next. His body reacts fast when Dean’s hand holds his cock again. They both stare at each other with Dean taking his time with each movement beneath, watching Castiel’s face flushed with embarrassment at the man’s lustful gaze. Dean wants him, that’s all Castiel needed to understand.

Dean’s free hand slowly peels the apron away, showing his hand Dean stroking Castiel’s hardness. Dean groans low, his eyes narrowing down as he gets on his knees. He knocks Castiel’s thigh open as he fits himself between him, and with eyes still locked with the artist, Dean takes him down.

Castiel throws his head back. If Dean wanted to kill him this would be the perfect opportunity. Legs open wide, Dean bobbing his head as he sucks Castiel’s cock, slobbering in its thickness and swallowing him down to the root. Castiel moans and runs both hands at the top of Dean’s head. He watches his cock slip in and out of Dean’s pretty lips, the lips he wants to kiss so bad but it’s so full of his cock he doesn’t know what to do. His legs tremble with Dean’s dirty sounds and moans as he sucks and hums, nose digging deep at Castiel’s roots. His tongue flattens at the underside of his cock, making love to it as he bobs his head freely again, sending an electric current all over Castiel’s body.

Breathing heavily, Castiel shuts his eyes close and let Dean take what he can draw from him. His body is so light, building up rage deep at the pit of his stomach. Dean is relentless with sucking, letting Castiel’s cock rest deep in his throat before pulling and bobbing around him again until Castiel feels the tightening of his stomach and he grabs Dean’s hair in a warning.

“Dean…”

Dean pulls out but doesn’t stop sucking gently at the tip of his cock. Watching him there, drinking him in is enough to make Castiel explode. He spasms as he comes—body arching and thrusting deep into the heat of Dean’s mouth who takes him all, swallowing down everything he gives. It’s dirty and indecent but Dean’s mouth is so beautiful near his cock when he pulls, spits and cum dribbling at the corner of his lips. Castiel wants to pass out, but he wants to keep staring at Dean’s debauched mouth full of his come. He doesn’t know why Dean did that, but it sends warmth all over his skin, making him want to reach for Dean, blushing fiercely when Dean swallows in his throat, a final show of devotion. He gives Castiel a huge grin between the soft glowing looks they give each other and then Dean is pulling Castiel into a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I’m an idiot, I know that…”

Castiel hums on his chest take a moment to breathe for air before he tells Dean. “Well, you pass to be a porn star.”

Dean chuckles and sighs. “I’d do all kinds of porn if it’s with you, no one else.

“You fucker.”

Dean smiles guiltily but the new shine behind his eyes is telling.

“I can be if you let me.”

“Not in your life.” A beat of silence where Dean smiles smugly again, earning an arch of the eyebrow, “Obviously, you can’t take care of it.”

Dean groans, “I’m sorry alright? I was just angry you saw me like that…you get me riled up a lot and…man, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for getting involved in your business too.”

“No, dude, I’m a jerk.”

They gaze at each other quietly, Dean stepping closer again but Castiel presses a hand on his chest again.

“You ruined my apron.” He tells him.

Dean smiles smugly and rubs the back of his hair, a failed attempt to be apologetic and Castiel just knows to believe the man’s been plotting to do that for a long time too. He shakes his head and with one last curse, tells Dean to fuck off.


	8. The Emergency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean's back is on another wall and Castiel got him.

It’s a little awkward to watch Dean go late that afternoon after Castiel insisted they continue the job since it was their schedule. It turned out to be a fruitless day, however, filled with his model’s spontaneous erection— (“because you won’t stop looking! Your eyes are fucking with me, Cas!”, “Shut up and get off the pedestal! I want that cock soft or dead, I don’t give a damn!”)

Dean’s smug face when Castiel finally tells him to take a shower leaves him grumbling to himself about sexy butt naked models who can’t keep their hands off themselves.

“We’re not exactly making porn videos here!” he calls back.

“I don’t mind making one!”

“Dean!” he barks in frustration when someone knocks on the door. Castiel shoots a glance at the doorway and then at the bathroom where Dean is still locked in. Frowning and knowing exactly who it is, Castiel crosses the room in four steps and opens the doorway with his right foot stopping it to go any further.

He sees Ketch smiling down at him wildly with dark eyes meaningful.

“Having fun, are we? I spied our model to come early before the appointment. You’re not rushing things in here, are you?”

“I’ll pay anyone to let me slam this door in your face, what do you want?”

His irksome smugness taps something evidently evil from the artist. That is until he takes something from his chest pocket and hands it over to the artist.

“This came yesterday but you were not answering my phone calls. It’s from Ms. MacLeod from abroad. I hope you were reading your emails for an update, but I vouch against it. Otherwise, you’ll be the one haggling me for any mails. So there you go.”

Castiel reads the back address then turns it over. Ketch is still brimming with unnatural confidence in front of him and from his tone, he knows exactly what’s inside.

“Oh, my. For this to come around just when you and your sexy piece of art are making things steamy—how are you going to tell him, I wonder?”

Castiel shuts the door in his face because the bathroom door opens and Dean steps out, rubbing his hair, bare naked and unashamed. Castiel glowers at him, feeling a slight compulsion to get angry at Ketch for even trying to see a piece of Dean like this.

“Who’s that?” Dean asks when he spots Castiel by the doorway.

“Nothing, just mail for me.”

“Someone still uses the mail?”

“How else do you ship important documents?” Castiel steps to the side table near the couch and slips the letter inside the drawer. His gaze falls at Dean staring at him from the pedestal and returns it with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you willing to participate now?”

“It’s not my fault, you’re an eye candy.” He just brims of confidence.

“How long did you come up with that?” Castiel returns to his chair, picking up where they left before he snaps at Dean again for taking his time staring into the space of Castiel’s face.

The shower seems to work its magic as Castiel finally gets the stubborn cock to lie and in a piece of his marble. He lost interest in Dean's quick, natural body, forgetting the world as he perfected the image of the front, filing the thigh and smoothing the loin. He only feels the earth back when Dean’s warm palms caress his cheek, lingers a little just under the chin but when he looks up, he finds his model already walking out the door, promising to return that late at noon to check on something related to work.

Castiel watches him, suddenly getting hit by the idea that he and Dean just shared something intimate that morning. Color rising to his cheek, he returns in polishing the last piece, making sure to make up for the lost time. Putting the slobs together still takes more than two weeks. A little more time and he’s done until he remembers the mail.

He takes the content of the mail on a short break after he left the marble to dry. It did not surprise him to find his updated passport and visa there. Castiel stared at the content before slipping it back inside the envelope and locked it inside his drawer.

The shipment of his elk frame still doesn’t compare to his wild morning, but when it came his excitement is still unparalleled. Inias has his men carry it inside the studio while Castiel signs the form and asks them to leave it near the doorway before they make a line to go out the door. Inias stays behind to admire the three parts Castiel is planning to muscle through into a whole figure next week.

“You have a wonderful studio here,” he says, impressed.

“Thank you,” Castiel hands him back his pen, “This is actually the owner’s house still under renovation, I live in St. Louis.”

“Still, I love what you’ve done with the place. It… It just sings of art.”

“And that frame is going to make it better in a few days.”

“I believe an artist when he says it.”

Castiel opens his mouth, only ending with a small smile. “Would you like some coffee?”

Inias’ smile is warm.

It’s only natural that he made coffee for Inias and chat a little while knowing they are doing it at the expense of his cargo men waiting inside his car. Inias said they can wait and that the car is air-conditioned, seemingly not in a hurry which Castiel finds a little curious. They shared a little about the visual arts industry, Inias being an artist himself, doing portrays for a living until he found love for the forgotten jewels of the past and begins collecting

“I wanted to visit other museums abroad too,” he is saying as he checks table per table of the three marbles and stopping at the last piece with interest, “there are all sorts of antiques you find in the museum and—this is really impressive anatomy—I’ve been to Iceland—”

Castiel nods in agreement and crosses his arms, “If you are pertaining to the _Penis Museum—_ ”

“Yes! This looks like it belongs there, it’s perfect! Wherever did you reference this from? You think your model would want to donate—?"

“Can you stop talking about my dick?”

Castiel and Inias whirl around to find Dean Winchester by the doorway, frowning at finding the two standing so close together. Castiel presses his lips close, the idea of Dean’s penis in a memorial both not sitting right with a touch of hilarity. Dean doesn’t seem impressed as he marches in, looking at Castiel’s mirth in inquiry and glaring at Inias with suspicious eyes.

“Wow.” Inias blinks, beside himself.

“He’s Dean,” Castiel sighs as he catches the sight of a very jealous man who does nothing but to highlight his freckles with the reddening of his cheeks, “He’s the model.”

“What are you guys talking about dicks for?” he says, closing the distance between them and standing between Castiel and Inias. “I think I know you.”

“I don’t, and I will surely remember meeting you,” Inias says, studying Dean’s face closely.

“He just delivered the frame you saw last time,” Castiel explains. Dean gives him an accusing stare.

“Oh? The guy who owns the antique shop?”

“I think I should be going.” Inias politely says on cue, letting go of his empty cup and thanking Castiel for his hospitality. He tells them he can find his own way and with a raise of hand, leaves the premises as quietly as he did. Castiel watches Dean watching the man disappear with a tense shoulder. It’s impressive to see Dean get jealous when Castiel thinks the world is already jealous of him. Even Inias finds Dean attractive, he can tell.

“Did you finish your business?” he asks quietly, not leaving where he leans on the table with crossed arms. Dean turns at him, his face blanking at the question.

“Y-yeah, yeah I got my business done…”

Castiel nods, just staring. Dean won’t stop staring at him either and the artist will never get tired of how Dean is like an open book, the way his cheeks easily flare pink, the way he chews his mouth is all giving. He wants to kiss Dean. But making out will only lead them one place or the other and there’s still so much to do.

“I need your feet.”

Dean’s forehead creases.

A grumble escapes the full mouth above him as Castiel slaps Dean’s leg with a frown. He would have asked to have him in the same position, but the way his bowlegs make the foot line up the flat surface leaves too much gap between the raised left knee and right foot. The only way to get the shape is to separate the model which means Dean standing steadily above him with jeans pulled up to his knees.

“Quit moving, you’re not aligned. And step apart, you’re leaning too hard,”

“Just let me strip down and sit on that pedestal,”

“It won’t work the way your cute bowlegs make it hard to balance.” They shuffle for a moment, then Castiel digs his heel on top of Dean’s toes. “There, no moving!”

“I don’t get it.” Dean grumbles again with hands on his waist. Castiel ignores him. With the right tool at hand, he marks the areas he needs to chip later, lining the rigs and sawing the tip of the toes to make a figure of the nails.

The _Dying Gaul_ has such intricate shaped toes with sharp nails, unlike Dean’s well-trimmed ones. He bridges the vein at the top of the heel, feels the sharp bones and round form of the ankle until Castiel can see the hollow where the left thigh can cover it.

Hours later, he taps Dean’s foot, silently telling him it’s all good. Dean slumps down the marble table on his ass, shaking the entire flat surface and making Castiel glare.

“Done loving my feet?”

“You’d know when I’m done. Now get your ass off my working station.”

“You’re really working?” Dean asks it like a confirmation.

Castiel’s smile is teasing. Dean grumbles and moves out of the way, stomping to the couch and lying here on his face. Castiel is almost done with the figure and Dean’s presence is no longer necessary, but finding Dean there lying on the couch, patiently waiting for him to finish brought him a form of assurance and warmth. He usually minds people around his working space, but Dean’s grown on him a lot. He works with diligence, sometimes forgetting Dean, sometimes just completely ignoring him. But a part of him is well aware that hours later, the man is still around, handing him coffee or giving lazy comments about the art pieces he sees around.

At 5 o’clock Castiel stretches his sore arm and cracks his neck. The feet are now well-formed and precisely what he needs before the attaching next Monday. He looks around and blinks.

Dean is nowhere to be found.

Slightly disappointed, Castiel returns to the feet. They stay the same. Setting his tool down, he stands up from his chair and walks to the couch where he was sure Dean was just rolling a minute ago. Glancing up at the open-door bathroom, he tilts his head.

Where did Dean go?

A hand grabbed his left wrist and tugs. Startled, Castiel looks around to find Dean pulling him—his body losing control and he falls into the step behind him. Questions leave his mouth when Dean pulls him to his own bedroom and brings him near the wall where they both stare up at Dean’s portrait.

Castiel feels his cheeks burn. Dean is gazing at him with that usual smug expression, the tip of his lips curling.

“So…”

“I bought it,” Castiel says quietly, “I am well in the right to do what I please with it.”

Dean smirks. “Right.”

He gives him a once over, green eyes glinting, the tip of tongue wetting the surface of his bottom lip. “You know, Cas, if you wanted me the first day, I’d given a go.”

Castiel nods, “Is that why you had to go back home to get your business done?”

Dean’s eyes narrow, lips splitting into a smile as he walks closer to Castiel, eyes glinting darkly. He stands in front of him with hands sliding down Castiel’s hips, blinking

“You know about that?”

“I guessed.”

Castiel waits. Wherever this conversation will go, Dean better prepare himself for the burn. Instead, he finds the green eyes ogling at him curiously.

“How come you never say anything?”

“You’re easier to read than you think.”

Dean’s eyelashes dip down, green eyes lingering to his lips.

“Would it scare you if I tell you I’ve been taking them with me since day one?”

It’s Castiel’s turn to blush. He watches Dean draw near, the tip of nose brushing against his own. The model rummages something deep inside his pocket and then he throws it at the bed. Following it with his eyes, Castiel gazes back at his model, feeling the heat rising to his face.

So Dean’s been carrying protection and lube since day one…? How does that make him feel?

“Look who’s confident.” He manages to croak, sliding his arms around Dean’s neck, their lips ghosting against each other. Dean’s grip on his waist tightens. He kisses Castiel’s light and chaste, pushing him back to where the bed is located.

“I just want you so bad, but you scare me to death with that chisel.”

Castiel tinkles a laugh.

They make love, Dean’s mouth not leaving any of his skin untouched. Castiel melts in every way Dean touches him. Pinning him down the floor on his stomach, fucking him from behind slow and sweet. He can feel every inch of Dean deep inside as he moves in passion. His hands go around Castiel’s neck, finger playing inside Castiel’s mouth. He fucks him slow. He fucks him good until words leave Castiel.

Gritting his teeth, he tugs Castiel’s head down, feeling Castiel’s tongue slide between his pectorals. Dean’s toe curls and his kicking them off impatiently. Getting undressed feels such an inconvenience when he wants someone so bad. Someone who wants him badly.

Castiel doesn’t say anything, too absorbed on Dean’s nipples. Arching his body with sound behind his throat, Dean lets out another sob when Castiel’s teeth his hard bud. Dean holds the front of Castiel’s shirt for support, unable to support his shaky legs any longer as Castiel tortures his chest.

That’s when Castiel gets the hint and hooks both hands under Dean’s ass and heaves him off the floor to the cabinet where he pushes Dean’s legs apart and settled between them with their lips crashing, opening, meeting and sucking loudly. Dean’s head is swirling and all he can think of is Castiel and how he wants to grind to him. He is hard, they’re both hard. Dean pulls Castiel’s coat, unfasten the rest of the buttoned shirt, while Castiel kisses him. The buttons pop open followed by the sound of his zippers sliding down. His hand presses on Dean’s bulge earning him a soft moan, lips finding the curves of Dean’s neck where he suckles gently. Castiel slides a hand inside his boxer and takes his cock, hard from the mouthful of kisses. Dean lets out a cry with body jerking back to the wall.

“Like that, beautiful?” Castiel’s voice is a wreck. Dean opens his eyes to see

He strokes Dean, lips nipping on Dean’s earlobe.

His cock twitches in Castiel’s hands and Dean’s head screams for more when he thrusts forward into Castiel’s hand. He can feel the smile forming on Castiel’s lips, making Dean hiss when Castiel begins to jerk him in earnest.

“You’re so sensitive,” he kisses Dean’s cheek then pulls back to look at Dean.

and bottom lip trap under his teeth, a face Dean watches unfold before him like flowers in full spring and he wants to see more. To Dean’s surprise, Castiel pulls back when his hips tremble. Dean chases him, sinks Castiel’s length back, and takes his cum. Hot splash fills his mouth, making Dean gasp and pulls back a little. But he takes all Castiel gives.

He tastes Castiel’s in his tongue, then he begins to bob his head in earnest. Castiel groans and the sound he makes drives Dean to pull his thighs closer with no escape. He drives Castiel to the edge, pulling back to run his tongue on the throbbing cock. The last spurt comes and Dean opens his mouth, letting Castiel’s cock fall out of his mouth.

He finds Castiel breathing hard with blue eyes transfixed on him, wide-eyed.

He pulls Dean up and crushes their lips together. They share the taste of cum. Dean swallows hard and smiles. He knows he must’ve looked like some hot porn star kneeling there with knees wide open, lips full of cum and sweating. The AC doesn’t work on the heat they are making. Dean swipes his tongue on his lips. Castiel’s whole face darkens again.

Dean returns Castiel's round of burning kisses, hands, and arms wild on the man’s black hair turning it as messy as he could like what he was doing to his body, his heart, setting fire wherever his lips graze into. Castiel pushes him back into the cabinet again, this time Dean knows it’s coming.

“I want you, ” Castiel rasps on his ear after sucking his lobe, making Dean flush so much a squeak escapes his lips. Castiel smiles in approval. Without a word he turns Dean back to the cabinet and on a beat, is eating Dean's hole with dirty tongue lapping his open ass cheeks.

Spreading the bead of precum on Dean’s cock, he jerks Dean again with mouth latching on Dean’s throat. Dean thrusts hard on him, biting his bottom lip at the warm flesh. He wants more. God, he wants more.

“Cas….” Dean whispers pulling Castiel closer by his shirt, pushing it off the man’s shoulders to free his molded body curves. Castiel understands him and gets rid of the remaining clothes, leaving him in his tight pants.

“Any last confession, beautiful?” Castiel’s voice is low when he dips his lips back on Dean’s like it belong s there.

“I…” Dean buckles on Castiel’s touch, forehead on his chin, his body is already on fire. “I don’t have any packet.”

The kissing stops, the ignition hangs in the air and Dean lets out a protest. Dean holds on to Castiel tight in surprise and alarm—is Castiel going to stop— shit—

“You went here without one?” the voice is deep and clear.

Dean blushes and stares back at the curious eyes.

“I didn’t know I’ve run out, okay? How many times have we been doing this, I’ve lost count,” he wants to say that he initially wanted that, a big part of the plan. But how he ended up today at work got him plugging. He didn’t feel like being touched by anyone when he entered the restaurant. But with Castiel here now, it’s different. He wants to tell all that to Cas but ironically, Dean Winchester who’s always good with his mouth is unable to say anything.

Because Castiel doesn’t deserve his dirty laundries. They were here to fuck, that’s all.

Castiel stares then laugh out loud and crash their lips together to a bruising point, knocking the back of Dean’s head on the wall as he pressed close to him. The kisses are back, hands pushing his dry-cleaned jacket away as Castiel kisses him roughly. Dean can only hold his breathe and open his mouth—fucking guy is a very good kisser. Dean can’t wait for him to do his magic in his hole.

The thought drove him wild.

Castiel breaks away only long enough to pull Dean’s pants down to his feet. Dean’s shoes went easily with the discarded clothes on the floor. Castiel’s pants followed down, leaving them both naked in the narrow hallway of the suite.

Dean catches sight of Castiel’s cock with his mouth falling open. It makes him swallow—makes him want to swallow Castiel. He makes to move down the cabinet but Castiel is back on the space between his legs, kissing Dean sweetly, a hand back on jerking Dean.

Dean squirms. He is so hard already and he wants Castiel inside him. But he wants to make Cas feel good too. He reaches down to take Castiel’s cock in his hand, getting Castiel’s attention.

“What?” Cas kisses him again.

Dean pulls on the soft kiss impatiently.

“I want to suck you,” Dean says with eyes determinedly looking straight on the blue eyes. Castiel’s eye flickers darkly. He steps back, not saying a word and Dean falls on his knees. Castiel revels on Dean taking his cock in his mouth while he presses Castiel against the drawing table.

“You like to do me here, don’t you?” Castiel whispers with a coil smile.

Dean stares up, cheeks flushed, mouth full of Castiel’s cock.

 _“God, I love you,” Dean murmurs in his ears as he goes deeper and Castiel’s eyes shoot open when he came._ Dean chases his orgasm while holding Castiel firmly around the waist, their bodies latch against each other, front to back, Dean kissing his nape, breathing hard on his ears as he whispers, “I love you, Cas…. I love you…” Dean nibbles on his right ear.

“Don’t…” Castiel hisses, gritting his teeth when Dean’s free hand jacks him to orgasm. “Dean…”

Both breathing heavily, Dean stays behind him still grinding on his ass until his cock softens and pops out. Castiel shoulders him away to grab his clothes. He doesn’t speak, not knowing where the pit pattering annoyance is coming from when all Dean did was to love him avidly.

Dean steps behind him. “Cas? Something wrong?”

Castiel doesn’t answer. He couldn’t even look Dean in the eyes. Why does the man have to say it like that?

“Is it because I said I love you? Man, come on…” Dean sounded hesitant, but Castiel could hear him swallow and when the model chuckled, Castiel knew it’s insincere. “It’s nothing serious alright? Come on, don’t get mad…. I… I said that because it’s so… good.”

“You shouldn’t say it even if the sex is good,” Castiel pulls on his pants, pride stung. He doesn’t know what he wants, the fact that Dean is giving him an easy way out of the awkward discussion, or the fact that he wants to acknowledge it but Dean is now making it sound like it’s nothing. It’s ridiculous but he knew both end burns. “If you’re done, get dressed, I need to sand the remaining limbs. I don’t want to get distracted. It’s enough for tonight,”

“I’ll get you coffee—”

“No, I want…” Castiel pulls on his shirt when he faces Dean still very naked in the middle of the studio, “Dean just… give me time, okay? I don’t want this getting brought up again, I’m not ready.”

The flash of hurt on Dean’s face cut Castiel deep. He takes a step forward wanting to reach him but Dean nods and grabs his clothes on the floor.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it… sure. You uh… need time…”

“Not a long time,” Castiel frowns, “Just tonight.” He meets Dean’s eyes, maybe pleading more than he cares to admit, “Please?”

Dean’s face softens, “I’ll go then… you finish your work… uh…”

Castiel nods. Silence fell between them filled only with Dean pulling on the fabric of his clothes. Castiel watches him cover everything without bothering for a clean-up. He realized, he didn’t too.

“I’ll uh… go,” Dean repeats, backing out of the door slowly, “Uh… probably tell me when you’re ready and I’ll just maybe…”

“Coffee tomorrow,” Castiel says quickly with a sinking feeling that Dean is already at the door. The model nods and turns away, “Dean—”

Dean looks back faster than a spinning wheel and Castiel feels guilty for turning him away without even the decency to thank him for the night. But do you really thank someone you let to fuck you?

Dean smiles. So kindly and full of understanding Castiel wants to ask him to stay.

“See you tomorrow, Cas.”

Leaving Castiel alone with an empty feeling.

Castiel stares at the plane ticket and the letter on his drawing table. It’s past seven and Dean’s late for a Saturday when the man usually pops up at six to annoy him, make love to him, doesn’t matter which because Dean can do both just fine. But the fact that Castiel is fine with all the distractions is satisfying too. Except last night didn’t pan out good and he knew he did Dean wrong.

Who gets mad at someone so beautiful telling him he loves him and breaks his heart the next second?

Castiel pulls out his phone. Dean hasn’t called too, but his last message last night didn’t indicate any notion of distance. _See you._ When? Castiel sighs and ran his palm on his face, thinking. He needs to apologize to Dean but he wants to do it in person. If Dean would only show up…

He thinks of Dean and how to break the news to him. Sure, Dean has shown affection towards him much more than Castiel is willing to reciprocate, but he supposes it’s because it’s Dean. The way he naturally and instinctively sucks people in his life, the way he embraces people and takes care of them… the way he easily gives loves out, his emotions… Castiel has never understood how someone can show affection so much without fearing getting broken by trusting too much…

Then again, it’s Dean. The way Dean loves and feels it’s nothing Castiel has ever seen. He’d be nothing more than a slab of stone if he denies how Dean had affected him. That as much as he wants to believe he is as cold and dead as his statues, whenever Dean is in his vicinity something in him lights up and comes back to life. The feeling of being alive, that’s what Dean gives him every time he smiles, every time he cries out Castiel’s name, every time they…

Castiel swallows and stares down the letter again. What would it mean to Dean if he goes away now? Will Dean even stop him? Will Dean even ask him to stay? Castiel weighs in three options, one of which involves not pursuing his career which in all sense steps on his desire to be free to choose his path.

But Dean…

The mere idea of anyone taking Dean…or Dean falling in love with anyone makes him nauseous.

It took him a moment to realize his coffee had gone cold and that someone was already knocking at the door. Looking up, he finds Ketch standing at the doorway, staring at him quite mysteriously.

“Not really a good time, Mr. Ketch,” he says drily, keeping the letter in his drawer.

He finds Ketch still standing there quietly while he pretends to interest himself with his coffee. Castiel finally casts him a dangerous look enough to scare the living daylights out of anyone. Ketch merely inclined his head and the way he looked so uncertain gets Castiel frowning. He knew something was eating the security officer, but for him to look concerned…?

“What?” he says with much patience.

“Where’s the model?”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Why?” Ketch better choose his words carefully.

Ketch dwindles. Lips pressed; he steps into the studio but did not dare come any closer.

“Have you communicated with him lately?”

Castiel tilts his head. “Why?” he presses more carefully, eyeing Ketch in the attention he’d give his slab.

“There’s been an accident this morning in the cross station, big accident.” He emphasizes.

Castiel’s heart stops and all the noise in his surrounding disappeared. He tells himself to calm down as nothing was certain, tries not to let his panic show but must’ve failed the way Ketch raises his white-gloved hand to appease him, “Now don’t panic, I’m not sure if he’s involved—”

Castiel doesn’t remember standing up but he’s on his phone. He speed-dials Dean on two—something he changed recently after he and Dean’s first night. There’s a momentary pause, but the line is dead. Castiel’s world crumbles and he tries again, noting how much his hands are shaking.

“Jesus,” he whispers, contacting Dean again but there’s nothing. He glances at Ketch who’s already standing halfway the room showing roots of being human for the first time.

“I—I need the number of his agent,” his voice shakes. He clears his throat and tries again this time. “Please.”

Ketch’s immediate response of handing him the number tells Castiel of how much Ketch anticipated this and for the first time, he is grateful for the man’s attentiveness. Castiel dials the manager’s phone and calls. There’s an answer but it was as Castiel feared.

_“There was an accident, yes, his bike was involved. I’m still confirming but Dean’s okay—I’ll tell him to call you. I don’t think it’s good.”_

“What does that mean?” Castiel hollers, chest tight in worry.

_“I’ll get him to call you—I’m on the way to the hospital—”_

“Which hospital? Why is he in the hospital if he’s not—”

_“Are you an immediate family because I’m in a hurry too—”_

“I’m his boyfriend goddamit!” Castiel shouts all fire bursting and that moment it doesn’t matter. He owns Dean in many ways Dean owns him, label it or not. They are together.

_“Oh…”_

Castiel notes the name of the hospital, grabs his jacket and forgets about Ketch until he is turning the engine of his car. Ketch calls someone to open the gate.

“Are you gonna be okay? You want Alex to drive you?”

“I’m fine, I’m going to Dean.” Castiel gives him a grateful look and a nod to which the guard responds too. Castiel is glad his hands are steady when he reaches the freeway to the hospital. Every red light sets his blood boiling but he doesn’t let his emotion get the best of him while behind the wheel. He can not be of any service to Dean if he gets himself in an accident too. One end should be fine to handle and if Dean’s okay. He turns the radio and listens to the news for the first time in weeks about how an accident involving two cars and a bike caused traffic an hour ago. One man died.

_Not Dean… not Dean…_

Castiel drives past the remnants of the vehicle after a fifteen minutes delay. He sees the familiar black bike and his stomach clenches. Not a minute passed that he wished Dean would call him. He doesn’t get any phone calls not until he’s parked his car at the nearest door of the hospital and is running to the counter—

“Dean Winchester—is there a patient—” Castiel stops, breathing hard.

The clerk gives him a steady look, waiting and almost ready to tell him to calm down. Castiel doesn’t need that, he can’t calm down, not… but Dean’s not the one involved in the accident, he hasn’t heard the whole story and he’s not sure any Winchester—

“Sir?” the clerk presses.

Castiel is lost for words for the first time. Not any amount of study or any amount of genius could have prepared him for this. It’s the first time he’s got nothing… nothing.

That’s when his phone vibrates. Castiel nearly cries upon seeing Dean’s name. He whisks himself out of the counter to the corner where people won’t hear him cursing the man whose voice turned like a wall of support for Castiel’s crumbling world.

“Dammit, Dean!”

_“I’m fine,”_

“You don’t sound fine, where are you? What happened?” Castiel runs to the corridor, eyes looking around but not really seeing anything except all the white and emergency room tags.

_“Uh… hospital… third floor… surgery room…”_

Castiel can hear Dean swallowing hard. He urges him while wildly looking for an elevator—got impatient and run to the stairs—who the fuck puts the surgery room on the third floor? “Dean—”

 _“Payphone… calling you on payphone… must’ve lost my phone this morning… I dunno, Cas… things turn black when I heard….”_ His deep voice shatters into fits of sniffs and swallows. Castiel’s eyes flash and he skips steps. He’s glad no one was on his way or he would’ve broken past them. He needs to see Dean now before his legs give away. He can sense the urgency in his body to find him, to grab him and make sure he’s really okay. But the thing was, he knows Dean is not.

Dean takes his time and Castiel throws a curse in his name. If Dean doesn’t— _“It’s Ben…”_

The kid? Oh god… Castiel has never felt this scared. The boy… the boy Dean talks about… The boy Dean loves so much, oh god please no…

“Speak to me, Dean…” he gets on the third-floor stairs, aware of how heavy his legs are becoming but his pace still increasing.

“ _His dad visited them last night… I… Lisa called me; said he was drunk. I went there to help, got punched for putting my nose in and I knocked him down. I stayed there. Lisa wants to throw him out, he’s an asshole yeah, but Ben’s there and the kid loved him so… next thing I know I was getting my ass handed to me. He choked me and asked for the key to my bike. I told him I’d give it to him if he stopped bothering Ben and Lisa. He took my bike and I was talking to Lisa because she was crying about how sorry she was with the bike… then we heard Ben and he was with his dad on the bike and they drove— and we followed—next thing the accident—"_

“Third floor, I’m here, babe, I’m here in the hospital now, where are you?” Castiel breatheshis insides in flames. “Dean? Dean—where are you—”

Castiel stops as he sees Dean’s familiar frame leaning on the payphone machine. His back was on him and he was still wearing the same blue jacket he had last night. He was hunching on the payphone with the body covering the entire small booth. Castiel grits his teeth.

_“I need you here, Cas…”_

Castiel runs and grabs Dean’s shoulder, turns him, and knocks their chest together as he embraced Dean tight. Dean takes a moment before he hugs back, leaving the receiver of the phone dangling on its hook while Castiel buries himself in the solid form of the man.

“You’re alright,” Castiel whispers, kissing the corner of Dean’s eyes and embracing him again, “God, you’re okay, Dean… you…”

Dean doesn’t speak. He doesn’t let go of Castiel either and the artist gladly accepted his weight when Dean falls heavily on him. Castiel has carried tons of bricked slabs and marble and Dean weighs far greater to him, so he clings to him dearly never letting him shatter. He will always take care of Dean.


	9. The Goal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the couple finally decides...together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Of road accidents where a non-major character dies. Details on the accident are written in passing details. Thank you and enjoy the poignant end^^

They sit together on the bench waiting. Castiel has his arms around Dean’s shoulder, their free hands entwined as they wait. Lisa is inside the surgeon’s office while Ben was still in the ICU. As Castiel understand it, Ben’s father was killed off while the kid got a major head injury. Castiel has Dean wrapped around his shoulder extending to his neck. He never wanted Dean this silent with few breaks of a smile when he inquires. But one thing in life, even if he was physically present, he can't always protect Dean from heartbreaks.

He can only be there, staying. Dean is silent but he squeezes Cas’s hand back every time Castiel tugs for his attention. The silence is ringing, the hospital hallways intimidating but Castiel is there to support Dean. The hands of the clock move, every hour chiming like a warning. All Castiel wanted is for Dean to rest.

"You should sleep."

Dean shifted from where he sits stiffly, gawking at Castiel like a boy caught red-handed doing a misdeed when all he did was to stay awake in the wee hours of twilight.

"I uh... Not so sleepy... You um... You must be tired, Cas? You can leave..."

"No."

A flash of gratefulness filled his eyes. Despite the constant challenge to his heart, Dean never wavers. To find Dean damaged like an empty shell just as Castiel feared after the hardship of life... a flash of the Dying Gaul hit him and he shakes his head. He closed the magazine he was reading and takes Dean's hand, pulling him close so his arms are tightly wrapped around his middle. They sit like that in the corridor, aware of the hyper-alertness of the model watching his moves intently. Dean's wearing his black shirt and jeans but he seemed thinner than usual. Dean deserves better. Castiel kisses the side of his face.

"It's alright to show weakness in front of me, Dean," he tells him and planting soft kisses on his cheeks.

Dean clutched the hem of his trench coat but doesn't say anything. It breaks another part of Castiel's despairing heart.

To see Dean so... scared, it breaks him every day. "Cas... you still need to finish the Gaul."

"It's okay... there are only a few last touches we need there, don't worry about it, I'm not going anywhere, Dean,"

"I know..." Dean said blankly, seemingly satisfied with the tight hold on the coat.

Castiel studied him. "Sam said they will visit tomorrow." He only responds with a nod. Castiel notes Dean's growing stubble, the dark lines under his eyes, and vows to bring him the healthiest of food once a morning breaks. What he can fix now is Dean's spirit. 

"Come on, Dean. Rest. You can sleep on my lap."

"No, I..."

"Well, lean on me?"

Dean obediently followed. Castiel wound an arm around Dean's waist to which Dean greedily sinks into for warmth. Castiel is glad Dean responds to him, but he doesn't like how tense his body remains.

"It's going to be alright, Ben's strong kid," Castiel whispers to his ear sadly, his heartbreaking. "You can relax now."

Dean nodded but he never seemed to understand. He snuck to Castiel closer who held him tight. He still thinks of what could've happened to the boy. He loved Ben, Dean does. What would've happened if it was Dean... Castiel closes his eyes, his heart-wrenching at the thought. He only wanted to return the light in Dean's eyes and his easy smile. He can't stand Dean like this, slowly sinking to the pit of despair...what if Castiel told him about the plane tickets to Rome?

That's the kind of damage he's unwilling to have Dean go through so he decided not to go. He will stay with Dean as he was meant to be.

"Stay...Cas," Dean murmurs every time before he falls asleep to which the angel will always reply-

"Yes, Dean."

"I love you, Cas."

Castiel murmurs with a small smile.

“You haven’t eaten breakfast,” Castiel tells him, lips pressed on Dean’s temple. “Want me to get you a delivery?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Did you eat last night?”

Dean doesn’t answer. Castiel sighs. He unwraps his arm around Dean.

“I’m going to get breakfast. You need to be in full strength, same with Lisa after this… okay? Ben would want to recognize you when he wakes up from this surgery.”

Dean gives him a look. Watery and fearful, filling with hope. Castiel touches his cheek and lightly wipes Dean’s tear away. “He’s going to be fine, Dean. Have faith.”

“To what…?” he sounds hollow.

Castiel doesn’t break eye contact. It’s intense, Dean searches him for answers he is looking for and Castiel feels its importance to Dean. Licking his lips, he nods down.

“If not the doctors, not half miracles in the world, then Ben. Have faith in Ben.” He caresses Dean’s cheek, “And if it means anything to you, have faith that whatever happens, I’ll always be beside you.”

Dean reaches for Castiel’s hand but his lips are the ones that made the contact first. He kisses Castiel full on the lips, sweet and brief when he pulls away, their eyes locked, a soft assurance in their heart. Castiel makes up his mind. He won’t let Dean wilt away and die like his Dying Gaul statue… he’d give anything not to turn Dean into his modeled statue. Dean’s more than that, more than a carved stone.

Dean means life.

“I’ll be here, Dean. I will stay if you want me to.”

“Stay,” Dean’s eyes spoke volumes of this wish. Castel knows he won’t let Dean go.

“Of course, Dean. But I do need to get you breakfast.”

The flicker of life returning in Dean’s dead eyes is everything Castiel needed to assure him that Dean will be okay. He puts aside the plane ticket and the offer in Europe. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters more than Dean.

Castiel grabs an armload of takeout food from the cafeteria choosing Dean’s meal carefully with those that can boost his strength and lighten his mood in the already strained environment. He calls Ketch to advise him to let cover the studio while he is away. Ms. MacLeod will come to see it by next week, and then Castiel’s contract will be over. The following week is his flight to Europe to meet Crowley… but things have turned tides and Castiel makes a choice.

He doesn’t leave Dean’s side. Dean already called his brother and Castiel heard Sam’s on his way. It’s been six hours since Ben’s surgery and they haven’t heard anything from the surgeons. The ongoing red light is still on when the Emergency room when Castiel left, but when he returns, it’s back off now and there’s Lisa on the chair with Dean. Dean lying on her lap must be a sign of good faith.

Castiel grimaces when he steps in.

Dean immediately sits up, looking at Castiel guiltily but Castiel isn’t that short-sighted. Those two were best friends, and if it comes to it… if Dean chooses her…Castiel shakes his head. He needs to stop thinking about this.

Lisa looks tired to him and his heart goes to her child. He remembers the boy, it’s all too unfair someone so young

“Castiel, right?” Lisa says, standing up. Castiel drops the goods on Dean’s lap to shake her hand, trying to be as formal as possible but it all leaves his shoulders with her smile.

“Ben?” he asks at once. She presses a small smile and nods.

“He’ll be fine. They are preparing to transfer him to the confinement ward. He’ll be fine now...”

Castiel lets out a sigh of relief shown only by the pressing of his eyes. She smiles kindly and thanks to him for worrying. She tells him while Dean hogs the food on the nearest waiting area with a table that Ben was wearing a helmet at least. His father had the decency to protect him at the last minute of his life.

Castiel doesn’t inquire about the father. The only resentment however was how the man had treated Dean physically and how Dean always seemed to accept the beating. He needs to talk to Dean about that but for now... he turns to the model.

Dean is eating with his lips messy. Castiel instinctively wipes his lips with his thumb, forgetting about their other company but Dean kept smiling at him and Castiel thinks it is rewarding to see Dean feel like he is loved.

Ben’s going to be fine. Castiel turns to Dean who’s already looking at him like Castiel has all the answers in the world. And really, how can Castiel ever imagine leaving Dean who’s done nothing but give him eyes full of love and surmounting affection?

It took another hour before they were allowed in Ben’s private room. The boy is fast asleep with a bandage around his head and scratches all over his skin. Castiel felt Dean’s anger simmer as the medical staff transferred Ben to the room but all his anger had nothing to release as the guy to blame is already dead so Castiel grabs his hand.

Dean doesn’t look but the visible tension leaving his shoulder upon Castiel’s touch is assuring. They stay outside the private room to let Lisa have a moment with her son.

“I called Sam, he’s on his way. Charlie too, they’re both devastated.” Dean tells him. It’s almost twenty four hours since the accident and somehow Castiel never felt tired. He worries for Dean, the eyebags under his eyes and the cut lip he’s been trying to will away so it heals, leaving him bothered. Dean has noticed his insistence and every time Castiel points it out, he would lean in to kiss Castiel just to make him stop.

In the end, Castiel relents and lets Dean do what he wants, but he still frowns at the blood clot every time he turns to Dean.

“I have to get back to the studio soon, Ms. MacLeod is almost ready for the grand unveiling.”

“Yeah, shame I can’t be there to see myself get drooled on by people,” Dean smiles when they stand outside the hallway, holding hands while their other hands are deep in their coat pockets.

“I rather they not,” Castiel observes, “But the stone is all theirs. I’m keeping the real one.”

Dean nudges him with a smirk.

“You’re tired. I want you to sleep, Dean.”

“Not after I see him wake up.”

Castiel ponders over this.

“Dean… about Lisa…”

Dean turns to him sharply and shakes his head. “I swear to god, Cas, if you’re going to tell me you think I’m better off with her to take care of Ben, I’m going to kiss you so hard, you’d never want to let me go.”

Castiel swallows his words

“They’re like a family to me.” Dean explains, “When Sam started having his own little gang of friends to keep him company, I felt left behind, yeah but I’m happy for him. He’s always like a magnet, see? People come to

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself much credit.”

“You’re giving me?”

Castiel smiles. This, what he has with Dean, he’ll never surrender it. If he can’t have both worlds, then he will choose Dean.

Meeting Sam was the best part of the week. He was very tall with a mounting amount of soft hair, he could be a model too with eyes softly speaking of assurances, no wonder Dean is very fond of Sam. He’s a kind soul, one thing Castiel learned from just talking to him.

“You’re the hot Picasso hater?” he says brightly, shaking Castiel’s hand.

Castiel raises an eyebrow to Dean who glowers at his tall brother.

“Dean told me everything about you… I mean, you’re the only one we talk about, I guess?”

“Shut up, Sam!”

“What? It’s the truth? You hardly ask about my girlfriend when the topic is about how angelic your boyfriend is.”

“Sammy, I swear you don’t stop now I’m gonna call Jess and tell her what you keep under your pillow!”

Sam rolls his eyes as Castiel chuckles. The brother obviously missed each other.

“He’s an idiot,” Dean says when they are having lunch. Castiel watches Dean take care of Lisa and Ben. Dean loves kids, his gentleness knows no bounds.

Castiel loves him dearly. Only heaven and hell can drag him away from Dean... but alas...

A week passed. Ms. Mc Leod has taken over the Dying Gaul. Castiel watches as the truck takes it, leaving the middle of the studio empty. A usual wave of emptiness hits the artist as he begins collecting his tools. He doesn’t need help in wrapping up the place, he can do it on his own. To let himself feel the silence and the void once he’s given everything on an art piece is part of his life he’s gotten used to already. He creates and they leave, creates and leaves, and the emptiness never gets filled.

Ms. MacLeod called too and it’s not about the Dying Gaul already being shipped to her mansion, it’s about the sponsorship to Europe. Surprisingly, it doesn’t feel heavy to say no.

_“Are you sure? Castiel, darling we can always postpone the meeting until you are ready?”_

Castiel gives it a thought. “I’m sure. I… I found something that made me want to stay and I don’t want to let it go, I’m sorry.”

_“Ah… you’ve fallen in love? Is it Dean Winchester?”_

Castiel stares down his hand but he is smiling. “Yes.”

_“What lucky boys to find each other… and through me, what does fate say about that?”_

“If I didn’t know better, you orchestrated this whole thing, Rowena,”

“ _Oh, did I? I don’t know about that? All I know was a handsome single artist and beautiful single model needs to meet to put my whimsical statue together. I'm as innocent as a chirping bird. But don’t burn bridges, Castiel, other opportunities will soon come your way now that your works are being exhibited. I doubt you can say no to everyone, so why don’t you talk to Dean? I’m sure he’ll understand.”_

Castiel scours the basement for anything he might’ve left behind. He heard from Ketch that next week, the workers renovating the building will come back. He can only leave dust behind. He comes back to his studio to find the door open when he remembers locking it. Blinking, he strides in and as expected, he finds Dean there carrying the usual coffee.

“Dean? I thought you’re staying at the hospital today…”

But Dean doesn’t turn and is standing by his drawing desk, staring at the plane tickets on the desk. Castiel freezes.

“Were you even going to tell me?”

Castiel hesitates, stung by Dean’s cold voice. Quietly, he walks over to the table and snatches the ticket.

“That’s… not any of your concern.”

“Not when I’m your boyfriend… or… are we breaking up?”

Castiel glances at Dean, stomach clenching.

“We’re not breaking up.”

“Then those tickets and letters…?”

“They’re nothing. I’m not going.”

“Why? I thought your dream is to go to Milan? See places?”

Castiel isn't sure whether Dean sounded relieved and conflicted but he sees him swallow hard next. 

“What about your dreams?”

“Going to places around the world can never be a dream, Dean, that’s shallow,” Castiel almost laughs out loud because he knows he’s saying it to himself too. “But being with you…” he steps closer to Dean, finally relieved to see that Dean had stopped backing away. “Being with you… the stubborn, noisy, distracting you… being with someone like you _is a dream_ I’d never achieve anywhere I go, believe me when I tell you the heights of a dream shouldn’t be about how far your eyes can see… but whoever’s _with you_ to witness them unfold. I’ll never dream of anything without you beside me, Dean… I’ll never see their beauty if you’re not beside me, so please…”

He stops in front of Dean, nearly choking when he is finally able to take Dean’s hand and clasp them tight, not intending to let go. He locks eyes with the green, seeing the way they flicker with so much emotion. So much pain at the uncertainty and Castiel is risking everything to let the light of Dean’s love for him back there again.

But Castiel did not expect how his world begins to crumble. 

“Dean, please, don’t push me away.”

He kisses Dean’s knuckle.

“Idiot, I need you, you know that, but I won’t be happy if you’re not happy…” Dean’s voice shakes, “I want… I want what you want… and that’s to be happy. If you need to go…”

“Not without you,” Castiel takes Dean’s other arm and pulls him close, leaning closer so their foreheads touch, “I can’t be there without you…and I’m not going if you’re not…”

There’s a pause. Dean has stopped breathing.

“Did you just…are you…?” he blinks. “Ask me to go with you…?”

Castiel looks down the floor.

He knows he can’t ask this of Dean. Dean has already given him his love, his time and affection. To ask him to go with him to a foreign land, to go far away from his friends and family, that’s just Castiel’s selfishness.

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” Castiel repeats firmly, “I…”

“Yes you are,” Dean lifts his chin. Their eyes meet. “You have to make your dreams come true, Cas.”

Castiel stares. What is Dean saying…? “Dean…”

Green eyes flicker and Dean’s smiling. “You don’t want to regret this, Cas, believe me. Now before you were mine, you were an artist first. Be true to yourself. Follow your dream.”

Castiel pauses to process the shocking truth and when finally, it sinks in, that in the end, he can get both Dean and his career abroad… he swallows with uncertainty but one look at Dean and he knows it will all work out.

“But I want to choose you now…”

“Fuck yes, you have me, you’ll always have me” Dean frames Castiel’s face on his palms, “But I will not sacrifice your happiness… for me… if I have to make you leave me, I will. Cause I know you’ll come back. You always come back to me, Cas. If you can’t trust fate… then trust me. I’ll always love you, Cas.”

Castiel stares into Dean’s eyes and that’s where he saw Dean slowly dying like the personified _Dying Gaul._ He’s seen it when Sam had an accident. Seen it when Ben had one too and now it’s there again, with emotions unbidden. Pain etches in his every fiber, from the curve of his full lips to the defeated expression. But his eyes were full of fight and soul. And Castiel realizes he’s fighting despite dying from within. Form his grief comes out fire from his eyes and Castiel knew that Dean is just that strong. All the beauty of any arts could offer could not compete with his love, his passion, and faith. Passion turned him into a fighter, one that would not let the world break him no matter how many times it brought him to his knees. Unlike the Dying Gaul, Dean is fighting to live. His passion made him beautiful. So full of life. So… human.

Embracing Dean, keeping Dean close where he can watch over him as he was meant to. Gone were the days he took Dean's presence for granted but with this decision, they were together. The next day he asks Dean if this is really what he wants, Castiel following his dreams when Dean has become his dream for quite a while now.

"Don't be an idiot, I'm a dream guy, but not that important," Dean chides him. They spent half a day arguing about how Castiel thinks Dean is important while the latter keeps rolling his eyes. Dean not believing that he is worth the choice makes Castiel want to stay more. But a surprise call from someone he did not expect to change his mind.

It's from Sam.

_"My brother is many things, Cas... but selfish is not one of them. He does idiotic things for stupid reasons, but one thing you can count on is... he'll never do it for himself. He's not perfect, he's... I trust you Cas, that's all you need to know. It's never been easy for Dean to see value in his life not when our father... anyway, please, you have to consider what he thinks is for the best at the moment, Dean will only see that he's holding you back if you don't go... please don't think he's pushing you... Dean doesn't like to be abandoned and is the first to push people away... but he's also the first to break once they're gone and whoever returns, no matter how much damage they did him in the past, Dean will always accept with open arms. So give him time... maybe one day he'll see he really can't survive without you."_

This conversation sealed Castiel's belief that Dean has been living as the embodiment of the Gaul. Fighting his own battle, with so much love to give and so much regrets he will take in the end. But one thing is certain, going to Europe is a must if it's what Dean wants, but he doubts he'll stay there for long.

Not when he already found a home.

Dean. Dean will always be his home.

He was at the airport when it happened. A week had passed since Dean told him to go and after the last day in the studio with the Gaul taken away. Cleaning the remnants of the _Dying Gaul_ left on the floor, rocks, and pieces, finally out of the room to be seen by the world. Dean’s beauty immortalized. It was the last passionate night he spent with Dean and he smiles at the memory. Their last deal is that Castiel will try and if the long-distance relationship doesn't work, he will fly immediately back to Dean.

It's hard, half his mind is on work, half thinking about his beloved. How can he get inspired without Dean beside him?

He was waiting for someone to fetch him from the MacLeod’s company, seated at the far end of the chair, and missing his Dean when someone dumps himself beside him.

“Hello, love.”

Castiel turns at Crowley with the deepest dislike. Crowley grins.

“I thought you’d never accept the offer.”

“I didn’t. My boyfriend made me.”

“Oh? So Apollo’s lover had everything to do with it. Good. So where is he now?”

Castiel glares. “He’s not…”

Crowley stands up. “You can thank me later.”

For a moment, Castiel frowns. Then with Crowley nodding his head behind him, Castiel turns, and there’s Dean standing by the airport counter clutching his duffle bag wearing soft faded jeans and flannel. He looks so beautiful when Castiel finally pulled him back in his arms.

“Dean—"

“Hey, Cas,”

“What are you doing here?”

“I got commissioned to be a model. Again." he winks. Castiel stares. If this is a dream...He glances wildly around but there's no sign of Crowley.

“What? But your work there—?” Castiel mumbles. Dean shakes his head.

"Crowley hunted me down. Said he didn't want to have a worker with a preoccupied mind thinking of his adorable husband so... He's not such a bad guy. well, maybe bad, but he comes through."

"Dean.."

“Cas, I told you I can do anything for you. I am. I can do it, I’m that good and flexible. See, Crowley made an offer, I'll explain later, but for now, we have a place to stay near this Capitoline Hill I'm hearing but... it's a good location I heard. Near museums, maybe you can teach me more about gladiators.

Castiel’s blue eyes fill with tears. Dean gets concerned and kisses his forehead.

“Why are you—don’t cry Cas—” he sounds shocked.

“Dean, I’m taking everything from you—”

“No, you’re not,” Dean says firmly, holding his gaze. “I am giving it.” He growls.

Castiel stares at the man, his heart skipping beats at the intense gaze.

“Cas, if you don’t snatch it now, I’m never offering it again. Will you let me stay? With you?”

Castiel bites his lips and fuck all selfishness in the world, he nods.

“Yes, I’m sorry…”

“Idiot, it’s what we both want. And we’re happy. Whoever told you that you can’t have both me and your job, their fucking with themselves. I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel kisses him which Dean happily takes. But Castiel has never felt empty after. Dean is surely more entertaining than any marbles put together. What a gift to the world Dean Winchester is, and he means to make him happier to the end of their days.

In Italy, no less.


End file.
